University of Virginia Library

FALCONRY.

Spenser.

Among the many recreations of the good old
times which the Squire has endeavoured to revive
on his estate, is that of hawking. He decries
shooting as a skulking solitary treacherous
sport in comparison; but hawking, he says, was
the noble art of hunting carried into the skies.
It was the stately amusement of gentlemen, for
in old times, he says, according to the Welsh saying,
“you might know a gentleman by his hawk,
horse, and grayhound.” Indeed, a cavalier was
seldom seen abroad without his hawk on his fist,
and even a stately dame did not think herself

completely equipped in riding forth, unless she
had her tasseled-hawk held by jesses on her delicate
hand. It was thought, in those excellent
days, says an old writer, “quite sufficient for a
nobleman to wind their horn, and to carry their
hawke fair, and leave study and learning to the
children of mean people.”

In pursuance of this notion, the Squire and
his faithful coadjutor Master Simon, have bestowed
unwearied pains in endeavouring to “reclaim,”
as it is termed, and to train up hawks for
the sport. A bounty has been given for all hawks
that could be brought to them alive, and the hall
has been well stocked with vermin of the kind.
They have studied the book of St. Albans, and
Markham, and various other books that have
treated of falconry, but they have more especially
studied some old tapestry in the house, whereon
is represented a party of ladies and gentlemen in
ancient dresses; with doublets, and caps and
flaunting feathers, mounted on horse, with attendants
on foot, all in animated pursuit of the
game. They have met, however, continual checks

and disappointments in endeavouring to bring
this project into operation. Their feathered
school has turned out the most untractable and
graceless scholars. And then they have had so
much trouble in drilling the hangers on, who
were to take charge of the hawks. Old Christy
and the game keeper both set their faces against
it for a time, Christy having been nettled at hearing
what he terms a wild goose chase put on a
par with a fox hunt, and the gamekeeper having
always been accustomed to look upon hawks as
highway robbers, which it was his duty to
shoot down and nail in terrorem against the outhouses.

Christy has at length taken the matter in
hand, but has done still more mischief by his
intermeddling. He is as positive and wrong-headed
as he is about hunting. Master Simon
has continual disputes with him as to feeding
and training the hawks. He reads to him long
passages from the book of St. Albans, but
Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign contempt
for all book knowledge; and persists in

treating the hawks as if they were game cocks.
The consequence is, between these jarring systems,
the poor birds have had a sad time of it.
Many have fallen victims to Christy's feeding and
to Master Simon's physicking, for the latter has
gone to work secundem artem, and given them
all the vomitings and scowerings laid down in
the books; never were poor hawks so fed and
physicked before. Others have been lost by
being but half “reclaimed,” for on being taken
into the field they have “raked” after the game
quite out of all hearing of the call, and never
returned to school.

All these have been petty but sore grievances
to the Squire, and have led him to despond about
success. He has lately, however, been rejoiced
by the receipt of a fine Welch falcon,
which Master Simon terms a “stately high
flyer” It is a present from his friend, Sir Watkyn
Williams Wynne, and has soared many a
time about the pure airs of Snowdon and the
brow of Penmanmaur.

Ever since the Squire has received this invaluable

present he has been as impatient to sally
forth and make proof of it, as was Don Quixote
to assay his rusty armour. There have been
some demurs as to whether the bird was in proper
health and training, or whether it was the
proper season for the sport, but all these have
been overruled by the vehement desire to play
with a new toy, and it has been determined,
right or wrong, in season or out of season, to
have a day's sport in hawking to-morrow.

The Hall, as usual whenever the Squire is
about to make some new sally on his hobby,
is all agog with the thing. Miss Templeton,
who is brought up in reverence for all her guardian's
humours, has proposed to be of the party,
and Lady Lillycraft has determined to ride out
to the scene of action and look on. This has
gratified the old gentleman extremely; he hails
it as an auspicious omen of the revival of falconry;
and does not despair but the time will
come, when it again will be the pride of a fine
lady to carry about a noble falcon in preference
to a parrot or a lap dog.

I have amused myself with the bustling preparations
of that busy spirit, Master Simon,
and the continual thwartings he receives from
the genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy.
They have had half a dozen consultations about
how the hawk is to be prepared for the morning's
sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always
got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably
given up the point, observing in a good
humoured tone, “Well, well, have it your own
way, Christy, only don't put yourself in a passion,”—a
reply which always nettles the old
man ten times more than ever.