Abraham Cooper (1787-1868), English animal and battle painter, the son of a tobacconist, was born in London.  He painted at lease two pictures of Thomas Rounding called Mr Thomas Rounding on his favourite Hunter Spankhaway aged 29. and Tom Rounding on Spankhaway, with Staghound, Gladsome, Governess 1821.

 "We love a good motto, and one like Mr. Hood's speaks volumes: HUNTS ROASTED"-- Next comes an advertisement of the author's endeavour to record a yearly revel (the Epping Hunt,) already fast hastening to decay. Mr. Hood is _serious_, as the following epistle will show:-- "It was penned by an underling at the Wells, a person more accustomed to riding than writing." "Sir,--About the Hunt. In anser to your Innqueries, their as been a great falling off laterally, so much so this year that there was nobody allmost. We did a mear nothing provisionally, hardly a Bottle extra, wich is a proof in Pint. In short our Hunt may be sad to be in the last Stag of a Decline. "I am, Sir, "With respects from "Your humble Servant, "BARTHOLOMEW RUTT." Then begins the tale.

 

THE EPPING HUNT.   By Thomas Hood 1829

 ___________ "On Monday they began to hunt."—Chevy Chase. ___________

John Huggins was as bold a man As trade did ever know, A warehouse good he had, that stood Hard by the church of Bow. There people bought Dutch cheeses round, And single Glo'ster flat,— And English butter in a lump, And Irish—in a pat. Six days a week beheld him stand, His business next his heart, At counter, with his apron tied About his counter-part. The seventh, in a sluice-house box He took his pipe and pot; On Sundays, for eel-piety, A very noted spot. Ah, blest if he had never gone Beyond its rural shed! One Easter-tide, some evil guide Put Epping in his head; Epping, for butter justly famed, And pork in sausage popp'd; Where, winter time or summer time, Pig's flesh is always chopp'd. But famous more, as annals tell, Because of Easter Chase: There ev'ry year, 'twixt dog and deer, There is a gallant race. With Monday's sun John Huggins rose, And slapt his leather thigh, And sang the burthen of the song, "This day a stag must die." For all the livelong day before, And all the night in bed, Like Beckford, he had nourished "Thoughts On Hunting" in his head. Of horn and morn, and hark and bark, And echo's answering sounds, All poets' wit hath ever writ In dog-rel verse of hounds. Alas! there was no warning voice To whisper in his ear, Thou art a fool in leaping Cheap To go and hunt the dear! No thought he had of twisted spine, Or broken arms or legs; Not chicken-hearted he, altho' T'was whispered of his eggs! Ride out he would, and hunt he would, Nor dreamt of ending ill; Mayhap with Dr. Ridout's fee, And Surgeon Hunter's bill. So he drew on his Sunday boots, Of lustre superfine; The liquid black they wore that day Was Warren-ted to shine. His yellow buckskins fitted close, As once upon a stag; Thus well equipt he gaily skipt, At once, upon his nag. But first to him that held the rein A crown he nimbly flung: For holding of the horse?—why, no— For holding of his tongue. To say the horse was Huggins' own, Would only be a brag; His neighbour Fig and he went halves, Like Centaurs, in a nag. And he that day had got the gray, Unknown to brother cit; The horse he knew would never tell, Altho' it was a tit. A well-bred horse he was, I wis, As he began to show, By quickly "rearing up within The way he ought to go." But Huggins, like a wary man, Was ne'er from saddle cast; Resolved, by going very slow, On sitting very fast. And so he jogged to Tot'n'am Cross, An ancient town well known, Where Edward wept for Eleanor In mortar and in stone. A royal game of fox and goose, To play on such a loss; Wherever she set down her orts, Thereby he put a cross. Now Huggins had a crony here, That lived beside the way; One that had promised sure to be His comrade for the day. Whereas the man had changed his mind, Meanwhile upon the case! And meaning not to hunt at all, Had gone to Enfield Chase. For why, his spouse had made him vow To let a game alone, Where folks that ride a bit of blood May break a bit of bone. "Now, be his wife a plague for life! A coward sure is he!": Then Huggins turned his horse's head, And crossed the bridge of Lea. Thence slowly on thro' Laytonstone, Past many a Quaker's box,— No friends to hunters after deer, Tho' followers of a Fox. And many a score behind—before— The self-same route inclined, And, minded all to march one way, Made one great march of mind. Gentle and simple, he and she, And swell, and blood, and prig; And some had carts, and some a chaise, According to their gig. Some long-eared jacks, some knacker's hacks, (However odd it sounds), Let out that day to hunt, instead Of going to the hounds! And some had horses of their own, And some were forced to job it: And some, while they inclined to Hunt, Betook themselves to Cob-it. All sorts of vehicles and vans, Bad, middling, and the smart; Here rolled along the gay barouche, And there a dirty cart! And lo! a cart that held a squad Of costermonger line; With one poor hack, like Pegasus, That slaved for all the Nine! Yet marvel not at any load, That any horse might drag, When all, that morn, at once were drawn Together by a stag! Now when they saw John Huggins go At such a sober pace; "Hallo!" cried they; "come, trot away, You'll never see the chase!" But John, as grave as any judge, Made answer quite as blunt; "It will be time enough to trot, When I begin to hunt!" And so he paced to Woodford Wells, Where many a horseman met, And letting go the reins, of course, Prepared for heavy wet. And lo! within the crowded door, Stood Rounding, jovial elf; Here shall the Muse frame no excuse, But frame the man himself. A snow-white head, a merry eye, A cheek of jolly blush; A claret tint laid on by health, With Master Reynard's brush; A hearty frame, a courteous bow, The prince he learned it from; His age about threescore and ten, And there you have Old Tom. In merriest key I trow was he, So many guests to boast; So certain congregations meet, And elevate the host. "Now welcome lads," quoth he, "and prads, You're all in glorious luck: Old Robin has a run to-day, A noted forest buck. "Fair Mead's the place, where Bob and Tom In red already ride; 'Tis but a step, and on a horse You soon may go a-stride." So off they scampered, man and horse, As time and temper pressed— But Huggins, hitching on a tree, Branched off from all the rest. Howbeit he tumbled down in time To join with Tom and Bob, All in Fair Mead, which held that day Its own fair mead of mob. Idlers to wit—no Guardians some, Of Tattlers in a squeeze; Ramblers in heavy carts and vans, Spectators up in trees. Butchers on backs of butchers' hacks, That shambled to and fro! Bakers intent upon a buck, Neglectful of the dough! Change Alley Bears to speculate, As usual, for a fall; And green and scarlet runners, such As never climbed a wall! 'Twas strange to think what difference A single creature made; A single stag had caused a whole Stagnation in their trade. Now Huggins from his saddle rose, And in the stirrups stood: And lo! a little cart that came Hard by a little wood. In shape like half a hearse,—tho' not For corpses in the least; For this contained the deer alive, And not the dear deceased! And now began a sudden stir, And then a sudden shout, The prison-doors were opened wide, And Robin bounded out! His antlered head shone blue and red, Bedecked with ribbons fine; Like other bucks that come to 'list The hawbucks in the line. One curious gaze of mild amaze, He turned and shortly took; Then gently ran adown the mead, And bounded o'er the brook. Now Huggins, standing far aloof, Had never seen the deer, Till all at once he saw the beast Come charging in his rear. Away he went, and many a score Of riders did the same, On horse and ass—like high and low And Jack pursuing game! Good Lord! to see the riders now, Thrown off with sudden whirl, A score within the purling brook, Enjoyed their "early purl." A score were sprawling on the grass, And beavers fell in showers; There was another Floorer there Beside the Queen of Flowers! Some lost their stirrups, some their whips, Some had no caps to show; But few, like Charles at Charing Cross, Rode on in Statue quo. "O dear! O dear!" now might you hear, "I've surely broke a bone"; "My head is sore,"—with many more Such speeches from the Thrown. Howbeit their wailings never moved The wide Satanic clan, Who grinned, as once the Devil grinned, To see the fall of Man. And hunters good, that understood, Their laughter knew no bounds, To see the horses "throwing off," So long before the hounds. For deer must have due course of law, Like men the Courts among; Before those Barristers the dogs Proceed to "giving tongue." And now Old Robin's foes were set That fatal taint to find, That always is scent after him, Yet always left behind. And here observe how dog and man, A different temper shows, What hound resents that he is sent To follow his own nose? Towler and Jowler—howlers all, No single tongue was mute; The stag had led a hart, and lo! The whole pack followed suit. No spur he lacked, fear stuck a knife And fork in either haunch; And every dog he knew had got An eye-tooth to his paunch! Away, away! he scudded like A ship before the gale; Now flew to "hills we know not of," Now, nun-like, took the vale. Another squadron charging now, Went off at furious pitch;— A perfect Tam o' Shanter mob, Without a single witch. But who was he with flying skirts, A hunter did endorse, And like a poet seemed to ride Upon a wingèd horse,— A whipper-in?—no whipper-in: A huntsman? no such soul. A connoisseur, or amateur? Why yes,—a Horse Patrol. A member of police, for whom The county found a nag, And, like Acteon in the tale, He found himself in stag! Away they went then, dog and deer, And hunters all away,— The maddest horses never knew Mad staggers such as they! Some gave a shout, some rolled about, And anticked as they rode, And butchers whistled on their curs, And milkmen Tally-ho'd! About two score there were, not more, That galloped in the race; The rest, alas! lay on the grass, As once in Chevy Chase! But even those that galloped on Were fewer every minute,— The field kept getting more select, Each thicket served to thin it. For some pulled up, and left the hunt, Some fell in miry bogs, And vainly rose and "ran a muck," To overtake the dogs. And some, in charging hurdle stakes, Were left bereft of sense— What else could be premised of blades That never learned to fence? But Roundings, Tom and Bob, no gate, Nor hedge, nor ditch, could stay; O'er all they went, and did the work Of leap years in a day. And by their side see Huggins ride, As fast as he could speed; For, like Mazeppa, he was quite At mercy of his steed. No means he had, by timely check, The gallop to remit, For firm and fast, between his teeth, The biter held the bit. Trees raced along, all Essex fled Beneath him as he sate,— He never saw a county go At such a county rate! "Hold hard! hold hard! you'll lame the dogs," Quoth Huggins, "So I do,— I've got the saddle well in hand, And hold as hard as you!" Good Lord! to see him ride along, And throw his arms about, As if with stitches in the side, That he was drawing out! And now he bounded up and down, Now like a jelly shook: Till bumped and galled—yet not where Gall For bumps did ever look! And rowing with his legs the while, As tars are apt to ride, With every kick he gave a prick, Deep in the horse's side! But soon the horse was well avenged For cruel smart of spurs, For, riding through a moor, he pitched His master in a furze! Where sharper set than hunger is He squatted all forlorn; And like a bird was singing out While sitting on a thorn! Right glad was he, as well might be, Such cushion to resign: "Possession is nine points," but his Seemed more than ninety-nine. Yet worse than all the prickly points That entered in his skin, His nag was running off the while The thorns were running in! Now had a Papist seen his sport, Thus laid upon the shelf, Altho' no horse he had to cross, He might have crossed himself. Yet surely still the wind is ill That none can say is fair; A jolly wight there was, that rode Upon a sorry mare! A sorry mare, that surely came Of pagan blood and bone; For down upon her knees she went To many a stock and stone! Now seeing Huggins' nag adrift, This farmer, shrewd and sage, Resolved, by changing horses here, To hunt another stage! Tho' felony, yet who would let Another's horse alone, Whose neck is placed in jeopardy By riding on his own? And yet the conduct of the man Seemed honest-like and fair; For he seemed willing, horse and all, To go before the mare! So up on Huggins' horse he got, And swiftly rode away, While Hugging mounted on the mare, Done brown upon a bay! And off they set, in double chase, For such was fortune's whim, The farmer rode to hunt the stag, And Huggins hunted him! Alas! with one that rode so well In vain it was to strive; A dab was he, as dabs should be— All leaping and alive! And here of Nature's kindly care Behold a curious proof, As nags are meant to leap, she puts A frog in every hoof! Whereas the mare, altho' her share She had of hoof and frog, On coming to a gate stopped short As stiff as any log; Whilst Huggins in the stirrup stood With neck like neck of crane, As sings the Scottish song—"to see The gate his hart had gane." And lo! the dim and distant hunt Diminished in a trice: The steeds, like Cinderella's team, Seemed dwindling into mice; And, far remote, each scarlet coat Soon flitted like a spark,— Tho' still the forest murmured back An echo of the bark! But sad at soul John Huggins turned: No comfort could he find; While thus the "Hunting Chorus" sped, To stay five bars behind. For tho' by dint of spur he got A leap in spite of fate— Howbeit there was no toll at all, They could not clear the gate. And, like Fitzjames, he cursed the hunt, And sorely cursed the day, And mused a new Gray's elegy On his departed gray! Now many a sign at Woodford town Its Inn-vitation tells: But Huggins, full of ills, of course, Betook him to the Wells, Where Rounding tried to cheer him up With many a merry laugh, But Huggins thought of neighbour Fig, And called for half-and-half. Yet, 'spite of drink, he could not blink Remembrance of his loss; To drown a care like his, required Enough to drown a horse. When thus forlorn, a merry horn Struck up without the door,— The mounted mob were all returned; The Epping Hunt was o'er! And many a horse was taken out Of saddle, and of shaft; And men, by dint of drink, became The only "beasts of draught." For now begun a harder run On wine, and gin, and beer; And overtaken man discussed The overtaken deer. How far he ran, and eke how fast, And how at bay he stood, Deer-like, resolved to sell his life As dearly as he could; And how the hunters stood aloof, Regardful of their lives, And shunned a beast, whose very horns They knew could handle knives! How Huggins stood when he was rubbed By help and ostler kind, And when they cleaned the clay before, How worse "remained behind." And one, how he had found a horse Adrift—a goodly gray! And kindly rode the nag, for fear The nag should go astray. Now Huggins, when he heard the tale, Jumped up with sudden glee; "A goodly gray! why, then, I say That gray belongs to me! "Let me endorse again my horse, Delivered safe and sound; And, gladly, I will give the man A bottle and a pound!" The wine was drunk,—the money paid, Tho' not without remorse, To pay another man so much, For riding on his horse:— And let the chase again take place, For many a long, long year— John Huggins will not ride again To hunt the Epping Deer! MORAL. Thus pleasure oft eludes our grasp Just when we think to grip her; And hunting after Happiness, We only hunt the slipper. ________________

 CENSUS'S FOR THE ROUNDING FAMILY

1841 Census Woodford Wells Essex.

Name	Age	Occupution	Born in county
Robert Rounding	47	Coltbreaker	Yes
Mary Rounding	46		No
Mary Rounding	15		Yes
Isabella Rounding	13		Yes
Ann Rounding	10		Yes
Clement Rounding	7		Yes
Charles Rounding	4		No
Rachael Rounding	3		No

1841 Census Wells Inn, Woodford Wells, Essex.

William Rounding	50	Inn Keeper	Yes................
Thomas Rounding	35	Inn Keeper	No
Mary Richardson	30	F. S.

Thomas Rounding was Landlord of the Horse & Wells public house from 1792 - 1841. after Thomas died in 1841 William and Thomas took over until . The partnership heretofore subsisting between us the undersigned, William Rounding and Thomas Rounding, carrying on the trade or business of Innkeepers, at Woodford, In the county of Essex, at the sign of the Horse & Wells, is this day dissolved by mutual consent as witness our hands on the 23-Dec-1845 Wm. Rounding Thos. Rounding.

1841 Census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Sarah Rounding	30	.................	No...................
William Rounding	7		Yes
Emily Rounding	5		Yes
Edward Rounding	2		Yes

1841 Census Wood street, Walthamstow.

Willaim Evans	64	Smith ...........................	Yes .
Ann Evans	60		Yes
John Mason	9		Yes
Richard  Rounding	23	Painter	Yes

We have a Hannah Evan sister to Robert Rounding (mention in Robert's will dated 14-Feb-1792 ?) His William the son of Hannah.

1841 Census Forest Side, Chingford, Essex.

John Pluckrose	75	Shoemaker	Yes
Hannah Pluckrose	70		Yes

Hannah Pluckrose nee Rounding.

1841 Census Wood street, Worplesdon Surrey.

John Hepburn	50	Ag Lab .....	No
Elizabeth Hepburn	55		No
Mary Hepburn	20		Yes
Jane Hepburn	20		Yes
Dinah Ansell	70		No

Jane Hepburn married Charles Rounding on the 14-Oct-1858 Saint Mary's Marylebone

1841 Census Connington Huntingdon.

Joseph Goodlad	25	Gamekeeper	No
Sarah Goodlad	25		No
Mary Goodlad	2		Yes
Sarah Goodlad	3m		Yes

Mary Goodlad married Charles  Rounding   on the 8-Dec-1868 Conington Huntingdon. (bigamy)

1851 Census 86 Piccadilly, Saint George Hanover Square, Westminster London.

John Salmon	Head	69	Frint Merchant	Middx London
Catherine Salmon	Wife	59		Middx London
Jessy Salmon	Dau	36		Middx London
Hannah Salmon	Dau	22	Professor Singing	Middx London
Kate Salmon	Dau	20		Middx London
Frank Salmon	Son	22	Frint	Middx London
Isabella Rounding	Serv	22	Servant	Essex Woodford
Ann Arnold	Serv	21	Servant	Middx London

1851 Census Downing street, Farnham.

Richard Rounding

Head

31

Plumber & Painter

Middx Hackney

1851 Census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Robert Rounding	Head	56	Forest Keeper	Essex Woodford
Mary Rounding	Wife	54		Middx Bethnal Green
Robert Rounding	Son	27	Colt Breaker	Middx Hackney
Clement Rounding	Son	15	Labourer	Essex Woodford
Charles Rounding	Son	14	Scholar	Surrey Walton-on-Thames
Rachael Rounding	Dau	12	Scholar	Middx Hackney
Frank Summerwill	Nurse Child	1		Middelsex

1851 Census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Willm Rounding	Head	64	Vets Surgeon	Woodford, Essex.
Tho Rounding	Visitor	45	Out of Business	"               "
Sarah Rounding	Wife	44		"               "
Thomas	Son	20	Jack to Fitter	"               "
Willm	Son	16	Vets Apprentice	"               "
Emily	Dau	15		"               "
Edward	Son	12	Scholar	"               "
Alfred	Son	8	Scholar	"               "
Walter	Son	5	Twin	"               "
Sarah	Dau	5	Twin	"               "

1861 Census Farnham

Rounding C,

soldier

24

Private

Woodford, Essex.

Clement Rounding.

1861 Census Gt. Friday Hill, Chingford, Essex.

Charles Rounding

Footman

23

Footman

Chestsey Surrey

Living in with a lot of other servants.

1861 Census 11 John Terrace, Islington.

Thomas Jones	Head	30	Lace Warehouseman	N/K
Isabella	Wife	31		Woodford Essx
Thomas R.	Son	6	Scholar	Lambeth Surrey
Frederick	Son	4	Scholar	Lambeth Surrey
William	Son	2		Islington Middx
Rachael Rounding	Wife Sister	22		Hackney Middx
Elizam Rounding	Wife Sister	36		Chingord Essex
Constance Rounding	Niece	3		Lambeth Surrey

1861 Census Conington Castle, Huntingdonshire.

Mary Goodlad

Serv

21

Ladys Maid

Conington Hunts

Head of household John Moyer Heathcote born 9-Nov-1800 London, Died 8-Dec-1897 Conington Castle. He played Cricket for Cambridge University, and he was a Magistrate came from a long line of Barons, Mary went on to marry Charles Rounding,

1861 Census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Robert Rounding	Head	66	Forest Keeper	Woodford Essex
Mary Rounding	Wife	64		Hackney Middx

1871 census 1 Upper Marsh, Lambeth.

Charles Rounding	Head	34	Beer house keeper	Chestsey, Surrey
Mary Rounding	Wife	31		Conington, Hunts.

1871 census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Robert Rounding	Head	77	Keeper of  Forest	Woodford, Essex
Jeannett Hayes	Granddaughter	18	Dressmaker	St. Giles, Middlesex.

1871 census Aldershot,

Clement Rounding

Married

34

Private 9th Lancers

Woodford Essex.

1871 census Queens Road, Aldershot.

Elizabeth Rounding	Wife	29	Soldier wife	Petworth, Sessex
Elizabeth Rounding	Dau	1		Houslow, Middlesex.

1871 census Woodford Wells, Essex.

Sarah Rounding	Head	68	Dressmaker	St. Lukes, Middlesex.
Thomas Rounding	Son	40	No Occ (Imbecile)	Woodford, Essex.
Alfred Rounding	Son	30	Blacksmith	Woodford, Essex.

MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE'S FOR THE ROUNDING FAMILY