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hunted hare; and the follower of the fox stands consequently as the only exception to this first catching-and-then-cooking kind of diversion. A good run, certainly, like a good tragedy, is scarcely complete without blood; but, then, there is no motive or wish in this beyond a glorious wind-up to a glorious day's sport; no undercurrent considerations of saving dinners or making presents, or showing off in silver and gold with the produce of food and field. At the very farthest the master or leading man, or, as often as not, a tailing-man, a lady fair, or a parvus Ivlus, will carry home the brush or a pad, and old Skirmisher, as his wont, the head of the hero who, like the man in ancient Rome, has given up his life for the good of his countrymen.

Under almost any circumstances we quite agree with the far-famed Chichester Butcher, that an affirmative answer to the “Did you kill him?" is of no little import in settling the character of a good run with foxhounds. Let the scurry be ever so fast, or over ever so fine a country, let horses and hounds behave ever so well, it requires blood fairly earned and fairly run into to fix the stamp of the “short, sharp, and decisive,"which in modern times is generally allowed to embody the beauties of this premier sport. We scarcely know anything more unsatisfactory or annoying than, after having come well along with your fox for, say, the best part of an hour, the result proclaims that he has done you. "We lost him: came to a sudden, unlooked-for, inexplicable stop in the midst of this capital burst; tried forward, tried back, first rode to this holloa, then to that; touched on him, as we thought, once or twice in series of small covers; roused three fresh foxes, and after being telegraphed back once more to a man at plough who had seen what he could almost swear was a fox about an hour and a half ago, gave it up in despair.” There now, if such a finale as this, by no means an uncommon one, won't take the varnish off what in courtesy be called a good thing with bounds, we confess to being rather puzzled to explain what would. The hanging and dawdling about from this enclosure to that, the gate-opening, cigar-lighting, stand-at-ease sort of work to which you are so quickly brought down; the listless, can't-make-it-out looks of the old hounds as they "get on” from one wide cast to a wider-these little ingredients of a check can only embitter by comparison the recollections of the first part—the clipper you were just about to enjoy, the pace at which you flew over the grass, and the determined style in which every hound in the pack went turn for turn and stride for stride with the gallant-hearted villain who struck out a line as straight as an arrow, and gave every hope of his intention to keep it. When a fox well-found and well-warmed is only half-killed or accounted for in this wise; when, with the steam once well up, you are allowed to cool down again after this fashion ; and when at length, despite all your faith in fortune's favour and Will's headpiece, the latter strikes his colours, “ calls over his company," and accepts the young farmer's offer to show them the nearest way home

- then, we say, then a man might perhaps be pardoned for taking bis place in the start for the Lark back, or, in venturing an opinion on the correctness of the first-flight Meltonia's notions who declared

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that hunting really would be fine fun, if one could only get those in. fernal hounds out of the way.

We have set out with showing that the death of the fox, however much to be desired as the end and aim of a day's sport, carries no interested or mercenary motives with it; and on many other heads as well as this the who-whoop, we think, will be found to stand equally high. Limiting ourselves to the chase, there can scarcely be a more tame, if not, indeed, unsportsmanlike exhibition than the turnout and turn-in again of the stag-in medias res, may be all very well, but “the take" especially—that bottling up to live to run another day, another week, or another season, does play the very deuce with anything of that wild enthusiasm which poets always sing of, and practitioners sometimes feel ; destroys the illusion quite entirely, in fact, making a tip-top sawyer feel so much like "the riding gentlemen” at Astley's, or forcing out considerations as to whether he couldn't enjoy much the same kind of thing cheaper and nearer business in a home made run, three times round and a distance, over* Jackson's Hunting Ground. With the hare again, as our pastors and masters repeat to those sad scamps of fellows who prefer sinoking to ciphering, and taking pleasure to taking pains, are we

sure to come to a bad end." Here, indeed, when one acknowledges the shrill piteous shriek of poor, innocent, unoffending puss, we would have the stag-hunting, stag-housing plan in full force, and good Sir Roger's system, as described by The Spectator, preserved as scrupulously and as duly reverenced up to this day as Beckford's thoughts or Meynell's deeds. But with the fox-that deep, designing, prowling, plundering, house-breaking, murderous rascal, bold Reynard the fox, it is quite another thing. We neither quarrel with custom for saving his life, nor with ourselves for not doing so: should think not indeed: a quick-witted, quick-footed thief, up to every move for making his way into a preserve, or out of it over the open; and known to be guilty of more crimes than the biggest poacher or the best lawyer in the whole county. Who, too, has despoiled over and over again at least, so the farmers' wives will say at the close of a season-so many good ladies of their fowls; and what we are sorry to say is sometimes considered quite as heinous an offence—so many good gentlemen of their pheasants. Save him, indeed! why it is an absolute duty we owe to our neighbours, our pockets, and ourselves, to give him “a duster;" and so, as here we have him all draggled and out-generalled with sixteen couple of hounds, every one at him and on him—Who-whoop ! once more say

“ Master Merriman” turns him over and over, and all but drops him again as poor foxy, game to the last, fixes every tooth he has in his head through and through that of his aggressor; but still, poor devil! it is terrific long, odds against him; and as Challenger, Concubine, Dreadnought, Valentine, and a whole host of others join


we, as

* Far be from us to in any way attempt to disparage this perfect little establish. ment, one of the most complete and useful in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, and which combines health and exercise with the acquirement of an art that every gentleman should be well versed in, and that the majority of our fair friends might profit by pursuing

in, there's no hope for him now. He's dead enough now, and no mistake; so Who-whoop! Who-whoop once again! Who-whoop! Tally-ho!

Who-whoop!" echoes little Jack the second whip, who, being somehow or other first up and first off, catches hold of his poor, much-mangled remains--a compliment which the said poor muchmangled remains return in a twinkling by catching tight hold of him slap through not an over-thin top-boot, and a very thick worsted stocking.

Who-whoop!re-echoes our Governor-General, laying hands on him like a workman and a huntsman; who-whoop! when !

worry, norry, worry! Whew! have at him, my beauties!” And, by the time we see his brush fixed in the front of Lady Emily's bridle, and his head in the keeping of the aforesaid old Skirmishier, we can rest assured that the devil is at last about out of him : so who-whoop! once more. Who-0-0-0-rohoop!

With the “ Last scene of all,” that Hogarth of the chase, Mr. Alken, as in duty bound, concludes this one of his many hunting histories. The form in which he here gives us the death, however favourable to the grouping of a good picture, is yet scarcely in keeping with the short and summary process of the present day. Foxes are now seldom treed, but are broken up with a very brief grace, a spirited kill him and eat him worry serving instead of the long bay and many forms and ceremonies with which our forefathers lengthened out the usual operations. In some countries and on some occasions, though when time and place permit, such a who-nhoop as we have opened the season with may, we have little doubt, be even now witnessed : while, on the score of artistic effect, we repeat it has advantages over the improved practice : still, in any case, it is a trifle to which we should hardly have thought of alluding, had we not been aware of the pleasure some good-natured folks feel in finding out flaws, and the gratuitous trouble they will bear to put their neighbours to rights. For this reason, then, Mr. Alken will pardon our presuming to tell him that he is rather out of date.


This is a formidable title, and of itself might be made to embrace sufficient matter to fill a much larger work than that of which this paper will form so insignificant a portion. The point, however, to which I would at present wish to attract attention is the great deterioration of late years amongst the breed of dogs used for the purpose of field sports, hounds excepted, as they are confessedly as near perfection, both as regards shape, speed, and bottom, as they can ever be expected to reach. I am now alluding to pointers and setters, a good brace

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