The Bullshire country is one of the oldest in England, and was originally hunted on what is known as the "Trencher system," that is everybody, in lieu of paying a subscription, kept (according to his means) one or more hounds, which he was bound to bring with him to the spot selected by the Master (who was yearly elected as huntsman) for the meet. No sinecure was the office of M.F.H., carrying the horn, for as every hound recognised the rule of a different Master, and every Master considered himself entitled to an opinion in the case of his own hound, there was a good deal of jealousy among the latter and no small amount of "tail" among the former. The "tailing," however, was augmented by the different system of preparation and feeding the Bullshire Hounds received, for while Bellman before hunting was treated to no supper, Truelove had to deal with a sumptuous repast placed before her by the compassionate but ignorant goodwife, "who couldn't abear the idea of the old dog doing all that work on an empty stomach."
After a little the system proved unsatisfactory, and a step in the proper direction was taken. Old Gregory the Whip was sent round early in the morning the day before the meet to collect the pack, and it thus became his business to see that all fared alike--wisely, and not too well. From this it was an easy stage to kennels, and somehow, before the inhabitants knew how it happened, they found themselves paying their subscriptions with and without a murmur, and were able to point with pride to the Bullshire kennels. Once this an accomplished fact, everything went on smoothly; and from old Gregory and a Master whose office was the subject of an annual election, they now turn out a huntsman, two whips, and a second horseman, and, for a provincial pack, stand first on the list.
Their present Master is one of the right sort, who takes an interest in his hounds and his servants, perhaps at times a little free with his tongue, but only when absolutely necessary, and it is because of their large and varied field that I have selected the Bullshire for description. The country, though not a flying one, has a fair share of grass, and is acknowledged by all to hold a good scent. As there is every conceivable sort of obstacle, of every conceivable size, shape, and form, wet and dry, it requires a clever horse to get over it. Indeed, when some of the swells from the Shires condescend to patronise the Bullshire (no uncommon occurrence, by-the-way), there are generally two or three to be found, like water, at the bottom of a ditch.