The Duke of Buc-Wm. Williamson, James Macbride,

IRELAND.

No returns, 25.

There is little in the above list that calls for remark. It is, however, very sad to see Earl Fitzhardinge's, Mr. Nunn's, Mr. Farquharson's, and Mr. Morell's names disappear from it, the two former by death. Dick Burton, after a retirement of some five seasons, has resumed his old place at the Burton Kennels, and has done the greater part of the cubhunting, although the injury to his back, which caused his retirement first to Collingham, and then to Yew-tree Cottage, Quorn, prevents him from taking a more active part. Lord Henry has no less than sixty horses in his stud, besides several mares and foals, the latter by one of his best hunters. Amongst the huntsmen changes, we have to note Dinnicombe, John Jones, Clark, Cox, George Turner, George Hills, Nason, Dale, and Pearce; while Press, Harris, C. Turner, Bacon, F. Goodall, Tocock, and Enever have been raised to horn estate. Young Beers's is the only death among the huntsmen, and Oxtoby has retired through ill health from The Fife, which Mr. J. A. Thompson intends to hunt himself. Mr. Harcourt, who gave full notice when Mr. Morell retired from the Old Berkshire that he should preserve foxes no more at Nuneham, and destroyed not a few, has relented in favour of his kinsman Lord Macclesfield, which is good hearing. Will Goodall has had a pack in his Lincolnshire country nearly all this week. The Duke is determined to do the thing as it has hardly ever been done in Leicestershire before, and no earthly expense has been spared to get a stud together, worthy of what huntsmen, with one accord, declare to be the best pack in the kingdom. His Grace and the Duke of Cambridge despised the Newmarket races this week, and kept knocking over the pheasants on The Links hard by all the afternoon. Foxes have been very abundant everywhere, and yet the fox importers say that they never had such a demand. In one country they seem to be rather overdoing it, as we hear of 27 being seen in an outhouse near the kennels at one time. The fox-destroying had, however, gone on there to some extent, and we are told that two poisoned bitch-foxes were this spring carried into the master's yard within half-an-hour by the earthstoppers. At Quorn the 560-guinea Maximus has followed Sophy Harriet, and Firebrand, the cream of Mr. Morell's last hound show, to the "Happy Hunting Grounds," from a severe attack of inflammation. He was a tremendous puller, but did some very brilliant things with Treadwell, though there are a grey and another in the stable which are thought even better than he was. It is very generally feared that this will be Captain Lloyd's last Leicestershire season for the present.

Our Melton budget speaks of plenty of foxes everywhere, and some clipping things in cub-hunting, both with Lord Stamford's and The Duke's. Treadwell is not so anxious for blood this season as he was last, and one or two of the flyers have not been dug out. Goodricke's gorse holds, and so does John o' Gaunt's, which is one of the finest coverts in England, but nearly always "Not at home" to its Quorn callers last season. Melton could, it is said, accommodate 200 more horses; and Mr. Tailby is to hunt four days a week. Whips have been uncommonly unlucky, as, in addition to young Ayris's accident, and Charles Pike's, we hear that the Wynnstay second whip has had a bad fall at a blind fence, and put his shoulder out.

The stalls at Tidworth at Tidworth are nearly emptied of all Mr.

Smith's favourite hunters, which have been sent as presents by Mrs. Smith to "The Squire's" old friends. Mr. Row. don, who was so long the ablest of coadjutors to him in Hampshire hunting matters gets Ham Ashley; Mr. Heneage gets Persuasion, Mr. H. Sutton, Raglan, and Captain Barlow, Brunette. The latter is by Mundig, and was purchased from Sir Richard Sutton for 300 gs., Mr. Smith rode her a season, and then she passed into Carter's hands. In addition to the fifty-five couple of hounds, there are sixteen couple of puppies, some of them by the Squire's late favourite, Nelson, who is to be chained up, and end his days at the house. During the last fortnight of his life, Mr. Smith was in no small spirits about himself, as he had gained some four or five pounds in weight, according to his weighing-machine, which he always carried with him to London and Wales. In earlier days he was not much above 10st., but latterly he was quite 11 st. 10lbs. His health was comparatively good till within a few days of his death; and then, taking to his bed the last three or four, he slumbered quietly away. His body was laid at ́a church in the park by the side of his father: but a summer temple at the end of one of the shrubbery vistas, which looks down towards the conservatory, has been converted into a Portland stone mausoleum, by the addition of a small room behind, with three compartments for himself, his wife, and mother-in-law. The building of it was begun shortly before his death, and it is some three hundred yards from the house.

Up to this season, thanks to the staunch, preserving orders of His Grace, the supply of Pytchely foxes has been pretty good in the Duke of Buccleugh's covers, but now they are sadly short. The same remark applies to the Duke of Cleveland's covers; and Earl Cardigan's, at Deane, have no natural litter, though a stray fox has been found there. At Earl Winchelsea's there are very few; but there are plenty at Rockingham, Lilford Woods, Mr. Stopford's, Sir John Palmer's, and Farming Woods. In the whole of the open country they are also well off, and if the pot-hunters, who go raking about with greyhounds, would only confine themselves to hares, Northamptonshire wonld be itself again. Half the pack have been at Brigstock with John Woodcock, the first whip, since the 22nd of August; and Charles Payne has kept hovering between that place and Brixworth, and keeping both packs in capital work. Early in October, the dog-pack had a rare 45 minutes from Cherrylap, with a cub, which skirted Geddington Chace, and was eventually run into near Geddington, in the Chace. At present Payne has 63 couple in the kennel, to wit, 25 couple of bitches, and 21 of dog-hounds. As the bitch-pack were at Brigstock, we did not see them; but the dog-pack were a fine, dangerous-looking lot, of from 23 to 23 inches. The entries number 17 couples. Scarcely 50 couple of puppies went out in '57, and 40 couple returned. Those entered are principally by the Pytchley Prosper, Monitor, Hotspur, Helicon, and Trueman, and Mr. A. Smith's Pensioner, as well as Lord Fitzwilliam's Sultan, Marplot, and Ottoman. There is only one litter by the last named, and that a very late one, out of Bashful; but of the five, one has got stifled, and another shows no symptoms of entering. This year Payne has principally relied upon

his Monitor, and used Comus, Singer, Notary, and Gambler, from the Belvoir kennel, and Reginald, Rector, and Rambler, from Mr. Foljambe's. The pick of the young entries is Tamerlane, by their own Trojan, by the Duke of Rutland's Trouncer (whom Payne has used a great deal), out of a Barrister bitch. Barrister is a sevenseason red-tan hound, by the Fitzwilliam Bluecap, and quite the father of the kennel, and still as resolute as anything in it at a fence when he is racing from scent to view. Two or three of the young entries by Prosper are also doing remarkably well. This dog goes back to Pillager, whose blood, which is closely allied to Cottesmore Senator, and Burton Comus, runs in the veins of at least 18 or 20 couple. Helicon, and Hotspur are both exceedingly good Pillager specimens, and the last-named two are, perhaps, the pick of the dogpack, with great depth of body, and rare legs, well filled below the knee. Their character of head is very different, as Hotspur has more jowl, and Helicon is longer in his features. The latter is, perhaps, the brisker-looking dog of the two. Trueman is a complete tan, with great bone, but not with such good feet as Helicon's. Pliant, Pensive, Primrose, and Paragon are also capital Pillagers; and Juggler and Junket, by Jasper, are both very good in their work. Trimmer is a coarse but useful hound, by Southampton's Trimmer; and two of the Barristers, Benedict and Bluecap, look what they are-clever little dogs. Fairplay, by Rutland's Fleecer, must not be forgotten, nor Marplot, by Fitzwilliam's Marmion, a yellow pied veteran, with all the traces of his family in the setting on of his neck. Cressida, by Belvoir Champion, has pleased Payne more than any of his Tubney lot, and Royalist is to be castrated, and go with the bitch-pack. Traveller, a half-brother to Tamerlane, is, we believe, to be drafted along with Barrister, &c., to Mr. Theobald. He is nearly black, and, in fact, one of the most peculiar-coloured hounds we ever saw in a kennel. Among the few bitches in the kennel that day, it was impossible to pass over Midnight, by Barrister. It is very rare to see a bitch so low, and standing over so much ground, or with such a beautiful head and neck; but she has not the fire of her sire, though she not unfrequently comes out with an afternoon fox, and lets very few get before her. Princess is also a remarkably fine bitch, by Prosper, and so is Telltale by Trojan. The bitches generally go to Crick and Kilworth, and Badby; but last season, on the whole, the dog-pack did rather the best of the two. Payne and his whips (the senior of whom, Woodcock, is now entering on his eleventh season) are remarkably well horsed, the former with ten, and the latter with five each. Among his lot, Payne is fondest of his chesnut Hornet, whom he rode during last season and part of the season before. James Mason sent him to Mr. Villiers, after he had given Mr. Drake a heavy fall, and he was handed over to Payne, who rode him in a tremendous onehour-and-fifty minutes, up to his knees in dirt, on the Badby side of the country, and vows that he was never better carried in his life, As, however, he walks very little over eleven stone, his horses, let alone his fine handling, have every chance; and to use his own words, this chesnut "takes a deal of steering, but he'se certainly one of the best I ever rode."

THE SWEET O' THE

YEAR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "DIGBY GRAND," &c., &c.,

"Each season has its joys, 'tis true,
And none should wisdom spurn;
But those who nature rightly view,
Enjoy them in their turn:
The angler, racer, courser, shot-
As each to each is borne-

But the season of seasons, is it not

When the huntsman winds his horn ?"

"Roses and thorns," quoth the poet, make up the sum of existence. "I can enjoy the roses," answers the sportsman-" none better; but I alone can extract my pleasures also from the thorns." So it is. Despite the fragrant promise of May, the brilliant glories of July, and the mature splendours of September, there is a more welcome month than any of these-a month of which the sere leaves, the soft dull atmosphere, and the lush, moist sward is more gladdening to the heart of the true lover of field-sports than all the rest of the year put together. In November, the old familiar feeling comes on once more; there is a curious hankering after the lid of the corn-bin, and the contemplation of those strong glossy quarters, be they clothed in the coroneted sheeting-of which some fifteen individual suits go to the set-or comfortably wrapped in the unassuming rugs of him who owns only one, but that one a clipper. Within doors, there is a perverse necessity for the overhauling of leather garments and blue neckhandkerchiefs adorned with white spots. Certain prints of Alken's, representing alarming and improbable incidents of the chase-prints which have been scarce glanced at for the last six months--assume a thrilling interest and importance; whilst a faithful old pair of topboots-no longer limp and dangling, like tulips after a thunder-storm, but well set up and polished on their native trees again-look appealingly in their master's face, as if longing to rest on the broad stirrup-irons once more. The circulation of Bell's Life increases perceptibly, for the meets of all packs are now a question of intense interest; and The Field, or Country Gentleman's Newspaper, finds its inquiries from unskilful correspondents becoming so numerous, so diffuse, and so profound, as to defy the utmost extent of theoretical learning and practical experience. It is November again— not sad, dull, morose, suicidal November-but the mellow, joyous, inspiriting November of the fox-hunter. It is to be hoped that the strong taste for field-sports indigenous to Britain, and still-notwithstanding the multiplicity of railroads, the subdivision of property, the high cultivation of land, and the general increase of luxury-so marked a feature in the idiosyncrasy of her inhabitants, may never utterly die out. There is no question that its tendency is to elevate the character, to give energy to the mind, as strength to the body; to