CHAPTER I.THE KILDARE HOUNDS.

THE “KILLING” KILDARE PREMIER PACK, &c., are phrases which hunting men are used to apply as naturally as young men and maidens, the slaves of Cupid, do “Duck,” “Dear,” or “Darling.” And well these hounds merit the flattering designation: assuredly, taking this sea-girth isle as the boundary, the pack is not inferior to any. It may well be compared with any in the kingdom; and the country over which they hunt is, in a fox-hunting sense, the “cream” of all Ireland.

The first master of the “Kildares” was Squire Connolly, of Castletown, a very eccentric, jolly soul; he was a thorough sportsman of the good old school, a notorious bon vivant. He kept open house, and on hunting days all who participated in the pleasures of the chase with him were expected to dine in Castletown; none were invited, all were welcome when they came; in truth, it may be said, that “though he feasted all the great he ne’er forgot the small.”

Some years before Squire Connolly’s death, the pack was kept at Bishopscourt, though he was the recognised master; when he died in 1804, Sir Fenton Aylmer succeeded him, and kept the hounds for a year or two; and then Mr. Arthur Henry took them, and kept them till 1810, when Sir Fenton Aylmer resumed the mastership.

He had a very famous huntsman, Jack Grennon, gifted with a grand voice; a first-rate rider, but like all of us, he had his faults, and one of them was being too hasty to please the hunting men of his time, though, I dare say, his manner would be considered not unbecoming in these more democratic days. The whips, Will Mathews and his son, were men who subsequently acquired a great reputation.

In 1813, an accident occurred which destroyed the best hounds in the kennel. The meet was at Tipper cross-roads, near Naas; a fox was found in Forenaughts, and a grand run ensued to Poulaphouca, beloved of pic-nicers. Just near the spot where the bridge now stands Reynard plunged into the rushing torrent, thirteen couple of the pack followed suit, there was a strong “freshet” in the Liffey at the time, and they were all drowned.

In 1814, Sir John Kennedy became master: he certainly may be called the “father of the hunt;” his popularity was as widespread as it was deserved; a more enthusiastic worshipper never paid homage at Diana’s shrine, nor a more genuine sportsman ever wore at his saddle bow that emblem of mastership—the silver horn. I may say with truth,

“Tis’ now more than sixty years since he assumed the post

Of master to the Kildare hounds, when he was needed most;

And though nigh single-handed, he proved himself a host,

In making them what they are now—in truth, the country’s boast.”

I have gained much information from a very interesting MS. from the Johnstown-Kennedy library; and this will be an appropriate place for me to offer my very sincere thanks to Sir Edward Kennedy for his kindness in allowing me to inspect them, and to assure my readers that, without that kind indulgence, they, and I, must have remained in ignorance of what I consider the most important epoch in the formation of the Kildare hounds. Sir John Kennedy kept a diary of not only every run, but what is an even more pleasant reminiscence, the names of those who shared the sport with him. It would be well if the gentlemen of the present day followed his example in this respect: the records would be read with interest by a “generation yet unborn.” One likes to see the names of parents, relatives, or friends recorded in such old archives—they recall scenes to memory dear. Indeed, it was thinking on this subject that first put the idea into my head of writing this volume. The history of the different packs must of necessity be a matter of dry and simple detail; but sporting readers are not inclined to be critical, so long as they perceive the vi vida vis, the fervidus, afflatus in works such as “Irish Sport and Sportsmen.” Such records, I opine, afford pleasure and recreation to many. If it be pleasant to peruse works which revive in our minds past enjoyments, shared in when “our lines were cast in pleasant places,” ’tis especially so in the evening of our lives, when our sun has almost set, and when we by anticipation feel the chill touch of the “wooden surtout,” or hear the final inevitable summons. Though our fate during our struggle in this vale of tears may have been unpropitious, though the links that bound us to the “old house at home,” may have been shattered, and the well-knit bonds of friendship which allied us to those most dear may have been severed, memory paints the past with a consoling, though, perhaps fictitious splendour, and any record which aids it is of use. In the manuscripts alluded to I found the names of the first supporters of the Kildare Hunt.

They were, in 1806, Mr. John Farrell; in 1807, Messrs. Robert Archbold, Arthur Henry, Joseph Connolly, and Val. Maher; in 1809, Sir (then Mr.) John Kennedy; in 1811, Sir W. Hunt, and Mr. R. Warburton; in 1812, Lord William Fitzgerald, Lord Henry Moore (Lord Drogheda’s father), and the Duke of Leinster; in 1815, Lord Portarlington; in 1825, Mr. Richard More O’Ferrall, and Lord Howth; in 1836, the brothers John and Robert La Touche.

At a meeting held in Morrisson’s Hotel, then called Morrisson’s Tavern, on the 10th of October, 1814, it appears that Sir John Kennedy offered to take the hounds, provided that the members would guarantee him; £500 per annum, to enable him to defray the expenses of keeping the coverts, paying for fowl, &c. The offer was gladly accepted.

The baronet was, facile princeps, in every branch of knowledge essential to good mastership, and he spared no expense. He used to hunt his hounds five days a fortnight, and the country extended as far as Oakley Park, in Carlow, and Loughcrew, in the county Meath. Of course the custom at that time was to be out at dawn of day. Jigginstown, where the kennels now stand, was a very favourite tryst, and many an ardent sportsman, who now lies “mouldering in the grave,” spent hours there on a wild winter’s morning seeking shelter beneath the ruins of the unfortunate Earl of Strafford’s intended palace, awaiting the return of the “varmint” to these favourite earths.

The men of those days were men of “metal,” so to speak, far different, alas! from the not effeminate, though more polished and as ardent sportsmen of to-day.

The habitues of the hunting field, of late years, may have often seen, when standing on the hill which overhangs that magnificent piece of gorse known as Elverstown Covert, John Nolan, a man who has catered to the wants of the fox family—bless their brushes—for years past. Well, his father was earth-warner during Sir John’s time, and he frequently received his instructions from him in Johnstown-Kennedy on a winter’s evening, walked to Loughcrew, stopped the earths there, and returned to Elverstown, doing the long journey and his business within the twenty-four hours. There were not giants in those days; but there were many men of slender mould made of sterner stuff than those of the present generation.

The Club was very much in debt in 1814, the sum total of the liabilities having amounted to no less than £2,400. The foxes were more numerous then than now. The runs were generally longer too; the gentry did all in their power to preserve foxes. They appear to have managed all the affairs relative to the hunting of the country in the most systematic manner, and the wording of many of the resolutions passed at their meetings would amuse had I space co quote them. For instance, at a meeting held in Naas, during Sir John Kennedy’s mastership, we find that the following resolution was passed and forwarded to Mr. Digby of Landenstown:

“We, the undersigned members of the Kildare Hunt Club, have heard with great regret that Mr. Digby’s butler has shot a fox, and we hope that Mr. Digby will take such steps as will prevent said butler from again perpetrating a similar crime while in his employment.”

At the next meeting the following communication was received from Mr. Digby:

“Mr. Digby has heard with great regret of the offence committed by his butler, and begs to inform the members of the Kildare Hunt Club that he has discharged said butler.”

Sir John Kennedy always hunted the hounds himself, and there never was a man who knew better when to cheer or to chide them; he was a first-rate horseman, had a splendid voice; many a fox did his view-hallow “awake from his lair in the morning.” He seldom used a horn. The Rev. Robert Burrowes was secretary during his reign; he had a passion for hunting. I have heard a gentleman state that he never knew a more ardent fox-hunter; and, he added, “he spent his days either in the saddle, or on his knees at the earths, going throughout the country.” When asked to explain, the answer my informant gave was, that when the parson was not riding, he usuallyspent his time going from one likely fox-refuge to another; and when he came to an earth, or a hole where he suspected one of the “artful dodgers” might be, he used to throw himself on his hands and knees in his anxiety to track him. Many noted hard riders hunted in...