We found a second fox, this day, in Foston Gorse, and had a good hunting run to Walton Holt; but, the scent failing, he was not to be caught. He was, however, one of the right sort, and deserved his life. I was mounted, this day, by Captain Freer, of - near Leicester, and experienced one addition to the very few instances I have met with, of a hunter being about as good again with spurs as without them. Without spurs, I should hardly deem the horse I rode this day a safe hunter. One of the idle sort, he cut every thing so fine in his fencing, that a little hollowness of the bank, or an inch or two more of a ditch than he expected, might have brought him on his head; whereas, after Mr. Smith had lent me his spurs, which his horse did not require, he was a very different animal in his work-going willingly at his fences, and clearing them, with something to spare. Here was a decided case for the use of spurs; but, with the exception of opening gates, when a dig of the rowel on the one side, makes a horse passage to the other, à la militaire, I think but little of spurs over a country, for ninety hunters in a hundred; and some of the hardest riders in England have discontinued their use, except in cases similar to that of Captain Freer's horse. As for myself, I do not think that I ever possessed a hunter that absolutely required spurs; neither did I use them at fences, unless my horse swerved: the hand, the thigh, and a kind of indescribable sensation of energy, on the part of the rider, sympathetically, as it were, imparted to his horse, as much as to say, go you must, will, with a good horseman, be sufficient to make him face any fence, unless he be given to swerve, or is of a very idle nature. Many a man would have fallen clear of his horse but for his spurs catching in some part of the saddle, and holding him back; and many have been dragged in their stirrups by the means of the said spurs.

In the sharp burst of this morning, a circumstance occurred that reminded me of an excellent description given of a start for a place, in a sharp scurry over Leicestershire, by the Hon.Stanhope Hawke, brother to Lord Hawke, during a visit he paid, last winter, to Mr. Hodgson. "At the third fence," said he, "my horse came down, but I would not quit him, for they (the flyers,' eager for a place) were hopping about me like frogs." At the third fence which I rode over, in the start of this day, the knees of my right and left neighbour touched my knees, whilst our horses were in the air: how many might have been just behind us, ready to land upon either that might have fallen, it is not in my power to say.

Saturday, 4th. No foxhounds being within easy reach of Leicester this day, I was not out of the town, but amused myself with inspecting the fine market, which, for cheapness and good quality combined, I found to be in favour of the buyer, over those of la belle France. The finest meat was selling at sixpence a pound, prompt payment, and another half-penny for credit; whereas, the badly bred, badly reared, and badly fed meat of the part of France in which I reside—the pas de Calais is not to be purchased at a farthing less prices; and the same may be said of corn. Fine oats were to be bought for thirty-three shillings per quarter; whereas, very indifferent ones, here, fetch twenty-seven shillings. No wonder France looks up, and her farmers ride in their carioles, instead of walking on foot. But, although we had nothing in the way of sport this morning,

some pastime awaited us in the evening. On the previous Thursday, Mr. Sheldon Cradock received a letter from Sir Charles Shackerley, requesting him to order stabling, and all necessary accommodations for himself and his stud, at the Bell Inn, it being his wish to finish the season with the Quorn. On this day, then, he had a few friends to dine with him, including mine host, Mr. O'Connor Henchy, and myself; and I must say that, of all the dinners I ever sat down to, in an English inn, this was by far the best. And Mr. William Cooke, who was of the party, and who ought to know what a good dinner is, went beyond me in the praise of the artist-who, by the by, was the present Duke of Beaufort's cook — by declaring that it was his belief we should not have had such a dinner at the far-famed Clarendon of Bond-Street renown. Then the way in which it was served! —every thing silver; with lots of well-dressed attendants, and Mr. Errington's splendid trophy placed in the centre of the table to give the finishing stroke. In short, it wanted nothing but gold-laced waistcoats and dangling shoulder-knots, to give it the appearance of not only having been dressed by a duke's cook, but to have been given in a duke's house. But the Bell at Leicester is one of the very best houses in England; and what made it such? -FOX-HUNTING.

Sir Charles was in great force on this day, the consequence of his having, a few days previously, seen a most splendid run with Mr. Bradley's staghounds, in which he played first fiddle; and all who know the country as well as I do will allow it to have been a tickler, especially so, as the pace was good. The following description of it was given me, by Mr. Kench, of Dunchurch, who was out:

"March 31st. Uncarted a deer, called The Nob,' in the parish of Wolscot, in a field in the occupation of Mr. Charles Gilbert, of Dunchurch; he went away, bearing to the left, towards Barby; then to the right, and straight to Bramston- - about four miles. He then crossed the road which leads to Wilton, from Bramston, leaving Wilton on the left, and also the osier-bed, hunted by the Earl of Chesterfield, running nearly straight to Hog's Morton. Leaving it to the right, he crossed the canal and railroad, and, afterwards, the brook, close to Wilton Mill, running straight for Wilton village. Leaving it to the right, he made for Gamburrow Hill Cover, which he also left on the right; and away for Little Brington, leaving that on the left. Now straight away for Nobottle Wood, leaving that just on the left; from that to Harleston Heath, running straight through it to Kingsthorpe, at which place he was taken; the distance being eighteen miles, from point to point, as the crow flies."

But to return to Sir Charles, and his place in the run, which was the occasion of some fun. It is quite true, that he got a start by a lucky nick at a bridge, and was never headed, which, although he was splendidly mounted on Kangaroo, a horse for which he gave 350 guineas, is saying much for a man of his weight, and over such a strong country. But the circumstance that pleased him most, next to the way in which he was carried, was the answer to the questions of" Which way are the hounds; and who was with them?" The answer to the last, was-"No one at all, except a gentleman with grey hair." Sir Charles's grey hairs, by the way, are arrived before they are due; and, therefore,

are not entitled to high honours; but where is the man, with any coloured hair that can go before one whose hair is white, and not before its time? "The great Tom Smith!" at once exclaims the reader, is the Nestor here alluded to.

An extraordinary leap was taken in the course of this run with "The Nob" (in contradiction, of course, to "The Snob "), by a hardriding Northamptonshire farmer, named Hipwell. It was over the mill-dam, at Wilton village, measuring, in extent, from hind foot to hind foot, thirty-three feet! We know that the King of the Valley cleared eleven yards - a similar extent of ground under Dick Christian, at the grand Leicestershire steeple-chase; but there was some advantage of ground on the rising side, and I should imagine such to have been the case in the instance now alluded to. I saw Mr. Hipwell and his horse, The Stranger, a day or two afterwards with the Quorn hounds, and he corroborated the circumstance to me; modestly observing, that he should not have ridden at the place had he known its width. "I came down upon it," he said, "at a good pace, and, as my horse appeared to have made up his mind to have it, I let him go, and he cleared it." I naturally inquired, though not from himself, how it happened that The Stranger, having been three seasons at work, and oftentimes distinguished himself, was still in Mr. Hipwell's stable instead of a better one at Melton. The answer was, "There are not many three-hundred-guinea customers in these days for horses that are not equal to a high weight; and that sum is asked for The Stranger. Then, again, he is not handsome to the eye." "He has fine points for crossing a country," said I; "and, if quite a sound horse, he is not dear at the money. With a hunter it is, handsome is that handsome does."

The Marquess of Waterford's hounds had a very extraordinary run on this day (Saturday). It was at first reported that the extent of country run over was thirty-two miles; but I have reason to believe it exceeded twenty-but not as the crow flies-which is far beyond what might have been expected from so small a pack, and not in the best condition. Mr. Smith, of who was out, and, as usual, rode in the front rank, upon Whalebone, declared that he was astonished at the persevering stoutness of this little pack.

Some strange reports were circulated, at one time, touching these hounds and their proceedings, evidently having their foundation in a joke. First, it was said, and by many believed to be true, that the deer were dosed with brandy every time they were turned out; and that, on one occasion, a hind was made so tipsy as to run only in a circle, like a man whose head was giddy from drink; and, secondly, that another ran into a cellar, when before the hounds, and, knocking the cock out of a beer-barrel, herself, hounds, and huntsman, all got drunk together. That one of the hunted deer did run into a cellar, I believe; and it is probable that some beer might have been shed; but, as for the remainder of the story, it was intended only for those who could swallow any thing. That one ludicrous circumstance did occur, with these hounds, is certain. The Marquess was running a drag with them one day, and ordered it to be stopped at his stables, outside of Melton town; but an unlucky boy, watching an opportunity to get

possession of it, continued the drag through the streets up to his own door, at the opposite side of the town, to the no small amusement of the people, the hounds having hunted it in full cry.

To be serious on this subject: stag-hunting appeared to eclipse fox-hunting with a certain portion of persons who keep horses that can gallop and leap. Well, there is no harm in this; on the contrary, as the nobler sport of fox-hunting is not only on the decline, but, in the opinion of many, has received its death-blow, it is desirable that some manly exercise should be kept up to preserve the manly character of Englishmen, and prevent our aristocracy becoming an effeminate race of beings; and this for the first time since Englishmen have existed. No less than three packs of stag-hunters were to be seen, last season, in Leicestershire; namely, those of the Lords Waterford and Cardigan, and Mr. Moor, of Appleby, in the neighbourhood of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, on the Warwickshire side of the county. I heard a description of one run with the last-named pack, which I should have liked to have partaken of, in consideration of the good cheer, compared with which the scene with the marquess's pack in the beer-cellar, was a dry job. Not one, but two splendid luncheons were partaken of by the field; champagne in the first burst, with Curaçoa and brandy in the second; and, if the hounds were not elated by drink, they were driven out of their senses, and, consequently, over the scent, by the field, who were. Then comes another burlesque upon hunting. Lord Cardigan-the Brudenell of former days, who would have given one of his farms for an hour, best pace, from the Coplow, every yard of which he would have seen, unless his horse had fallen with him, and lay on his back in a ditch-Lord Cardigan, I say, turns out a hind before five couples and a half of bloodhounds, or something like bloodhounds, which were, of course, beaten before their game was beaten; and it was in following these brutes that one of the most gallant riders in England nearly broke his neck. Brother sportsmen, for! But I must stop here; I feel my old Welsh blood rising in my veins, and my pen might run riot were I to pursue the subject farther; at all events, to the extent of persuading myself that the comparatively tame and insignificant pastime of stag-hunting, even in its best, illegitimate form-the one now only in vogue in England-should ever be encouraged to the detriment, if not destruction, of the noble diversion of fox-hunting, in which the exercise of science is required; and by the practice of which it has attained perfection in all the departments appertaining to it. Let us hope that we are viewing merely a passing cloud, and that Englishmen will continue to endeavour to become sportsmen in the true signification of the term.

(To be continued.)

WILD-DEER HUNTING IN DEVON.

We have been at it again in the west, and the consequences of Mr. Knight, of Simonsbath, allowing his fine Brendon Covers to become fixtures, were followed, as might be expected, by a brilliant succession of sport. The stag-hunting season commenced, as usual, on the 12th of August last; but meaning to confine myself to a description of those days only in which I was a performer, and circumstances of one kind or other having prevented me from attending the meets so often as I could have wished, I have, I fear, but a small dish to set before you; quality, however, must in this case be a substitute for quantity, and glutton indeed must that man be who, had he been present at the cooking of it, would not have acknowledged that the flavour was one of no common kind.

Thursday the 6th of October, 1840, I met the Devon and Somerset staghounds at Harford. Of all fixtures in Great Britain, perhaps there is not another that will bear comparison with this. Imagine a flat circular lawn (a hundred horsemen would be pretty closely packed thereon), surrounded on all sides by hills covered with oak coppice, here called the brushet, to an elevation of 800 or 900 feet above you. Through the middle of this lawn (dividing it in two) flows a transparent stream, which every where dashes itself to the Exe over a noisy and rugged bed, save, at this favoured spot, where it is broad, still, and shallow. Here then, on dismounting from my hack, I found myself, for the first time this season, in the company of a field of sportsmen, and a pack of staghounds; and if the majority of the former were not of so finished a description as a Leicestershire meet would furnish, either as regards themselves or horses, yet they were of the right stuff, that rough and ready material, without which you may have a good run round your drawing-room; but depend upon it you would never cross Exmoor. However, to soften the picture, there were several elegant horsewomen present. I know it has been said that the fair, though delightful objects of chase themselves, must not chase in return; in fact, that they have no business with hunting in any shape. Perhaps, in general, there may be something in this: to see a woman dashing over ditch and dyke, through mud and mire, in a fox-chase, and left miles behind trusting to the chapter of accidents for some one to escort her home, is, I must allow, not quite in keeping. But a meet of the Devon and Somerset staghounds in these western wilds is a very different affair; much is going on quite within her reach, the rousing a stag from his lair is often a work of some hours; and, during the time, romantic and beautiful scenes are visited, and appear to the greatest advantage. After the hounds are laid on, ladies seldom are found to follow them in these days: in those of yore tradition tells of Lady Acland, on Cattefelto, beating every thing over Exmoor, and the feats of this intrepid horsewoman are still rife in the memories of the old people in the neighbourhood; but then, when will there again be such a rider or such a horse?