awful that few horses could have stayed with them eight or nine miles. Stock Hill Burn, lying behind Methven Town, is a large planting, with a very strong gorse skirting the top; through the bottom, which is well clothed with long heath, runs a small brook, and as yet, at any rate, it has always held a good fox. On the day now under notice, the 18th of October, it was tenanted by as good a one as ever shewed his brush to any hounds in any country or times. He ran the covert two or three rounds, and then broke away down wind, near where Torry (Jack Ritchie), the head Whip, was at his post : but he did not view him. They were so well on their fox in covert that they got out on him in a complete body, and without a single thing like a check, at least as Torry could see, for though on a Thesis mare, who can go and is as tough as wire, he could barely keep them in sight. They went right across the Almond, and on, on, through a rough but open wild country-which, although I have been in most part of it shooting, and otherwise, and partly with these hounds, I am not sufficiently acquainted with to particularize-until they turned him up in full view and open on the Obneys, an estate of Sir J. Stewart's, within a field of Birnam Wood. The distance by the road is fourteen miles, but it was more as it was run. There happened to be nobody out but Mr. Peddie of Pitcullen Bank; but they went away such a bat down wind that he and Hall were sold; and Jack Ritchie— who from the talent he has evinced as a mere lad, was born for what he is-had it all to himself; and even that was but now and then a bit, as he could nick in on the line, for he told me he was beat the whole way. "That was a topping run for a cub-hunting concern you had on Wednesday, Mr. Hall," said I, when I next saw him; "the best I should think you ever had."- "It was that, Sir, and the best I ever saw, or perhaps shall."-"Or rather," said I, "that you did not see." Answer, an intelligent good-natured smile, and a woful shake of the head. Birnam Wood commences the first rise of the mountains close to Dunkeld, but the country this was run over is a mere flat to the Cotswolds; and, though difficult and somewhere rotten, quite rideable to a man and a horse. Hall may well abide my good-natured rub, for it is the first time he was ever out with his hounds-save the one in Spring above-named-and then pace beat all since he has known them. His hand and seat are first class, and with the most resolute quiet determination necessary, for nothing stops him. He has not a particle of flash about him-there never was a man more quiet, or less inclined to throw his tongue: yet when he sees he can afford it, he has a fine voice, and his cheer would put go into a mopstick. He has made himself, very deservedly, the more so perhaps because unconsciously and unassumingly, an especial favorite in Perthshire, and this is not my say, but open fact. The day but one after this they met no Field (not yet a public day) at Lyndoch. Found at the Black Park, and, after some running in squally weather, lost. Found again near the house, and, after a very sharp thirty minutes, killed on the worst part of the cliffs near Logie Almond House-Guider, Tempest, and two others (Hall could not as he was placed ascertain) going over the cliffs into the rock and foaming torrent of the Almond with their fox. They killed him in the river, and Hall immediately bled that especial good hound Guider, who seemed much hurt. He rallied, however, and got on his way home as far as the Halfway House on the Perth and Crieff road, a favorite place of meeting, and there gave up the ghost-if a dog has one, which I leave for Sçavans to determine. Such as it may be, dog never had better. He was got by Lord Kintore's celebrated Rubicon out of Mr. Assheton Smith's Gaiety, and has been bred from this last year. Their first public day was at Strathallan. Found of course at once; lost. Found again, and killed in a very squally day and the drop of leaves, and above all larch needles, after a very good woodland thing. On Saturday, 11th of November, met at their favorite west-country fixture, Legg: the day and night previous had been rain, and nothing else: no joke, for there Mr. Kinross, honest Legg, whose Disjunè on such occasions is as proverbial as the Old Lady of Tillytudliems, can sing with Blanche of Devon, "For there my native Allan glides ;” and a sweet stream it is on a wet winter's day. But they drew the famed wood of Cambusheenie blank. I little like to hark back to any of my own scrawls, but the Spring before last I mentioned in my notice of Mr. Ramsay's hounds, at the meet at Kippenross, certain traps and anchors that were seen in a smith's forge and elsewhere! They have done their work, and the splendid gorse at Balhaldie, the scene of a former top, the log of which I sent you, is burnt down, as they say Perthicé, stump and rump. I cannot trust myself to say more about this for many reasons. However, the star, though it might twinkle, did not veil its head, or Legg lose its charter they found at two o'clock at Braco, and the fox, a vixen, skirting most of the long chains of coverts, gave them a capital run to ground beyond Auchnaglen: the distance, as crow flies, is twelve miles, and the first half a country one might select to go skylarking over, with occasionally a stiff fence. There were three regular purls, but no harm done. I was happy to hear, for, alas! I am not able* to " try a fall," that Mr. Athole M'Gregor was out, and the old Weaver, one of Arber's favorite horses, renewing his youth, and fresher in appearance than ever. Of their doings since I have learnt nothing; but the weather has been so stormy and unpropitious that I cannot think they could have experienced any real sport. It has set in here exactly such a winter as the last, the hills covered with snow, in short anything but fox-hunting weather. However much it is to be regretted, Abercairney gives up the hounds at the end of this season. Nothing absolutely definitive, at least that I know of, has been determined on; but it is understood that they are to pass with a very fair subscription, which Abercairney received this season, to the management of Mr. John Grant of Kilgraston. A few of those who were most constantly in the field with the Chief, and of whom I had the honor to make one, have presented him with a handsomely embossed and inscribed Silver Horn. Neat and appropriate * I am indebted to Mr. Hall's kindness for being able to say that the above is all else heretofore mere chapter and verse. I have always preferred being tame, than risk taking what might be deemed an improper notice of any one, not from want of facts to amuse. as it is, it represents the good-will of the donors, although it necessarily falls far short of the acceptor's deserts. The intention, however, will go farther with him than the deed. As I do not feel comfortable in doing anything at second hand, however indisputable the authority, I must here beg leave to bid you farewell, with many thanks for the opportunities you have afforded me of noticing these hounds, and which on all hands were only available of for the reasons above stated. The foundation is now solidly laid; their blood unimpeachable; and the young hounds successively proving good. Should they go into Mr. Grant's hands, he is a well-known thorough sportsman, and, as a rider, a first rank man in any country. But whether they be continued or not, as long as there is one real sportsman left in Perthshire, however remote the period, Abercairney's name and memory will be associated with whatever may arise and progress; for he can truly say that he originated and brought to successful issue that which many good sportsmen deemed visionary and impracticable. So popular a Master it will not be easy to find; and that has begun to shew itself already, it being a matter I fear beyond dispute. I felt certain of it, although I cannot assert it, that, as soon as he publicly declared his intention of resigning, at a dinner in Crieff given to him in honor of his marriage, they have already in one or two places begun to destroy the foxes. And now farewell: if I have not ornamented, at least I have not abused your pages. Common truth and candour I humbly lay claim to. "Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine quemquam OLD NORTH. A DAY WITH EARL FITZWILLIAM. On the 14th ult. the Fitzwilliam Hounds met at Norwood, and many a good fox having gone from that covert, I made up my mind to join them, though averse to hunting in the Soke, owing to the many woods and prevalence of ploughed fields. Seabright was laid up through a fall, but the hounds having had a splendid run the previous day from Denton Ash, with the Noble Earl himself for huntsman, I felt no apprehension on that head: in short I felt rather interested than otherwise to witness His Lordship's skill in the task which he had chosen. The morning was very favorable, and the trifling frost scarcely worth mentioning. The hounds were punctual to time, and His Lordship commenced drawing the covert. It was a blank, but a brace of foxes having been seen by the covert side a few days before, I thought it the more provoking, as nothing remained for us but the Soke. We trotted away for Grimeshaw Wood, which was again a blank, and proceeded to draw Great and Little Bellum, Mucklands, and Pococks with no better Fortune seemed inclined to flout his Lordship, who, however, as the different coverts failed, seemed to increase his efforts, with the same sort of feeling probably which buoys up the sportsman in a barren country, after fagging three hours, that he must get a shot shortly. We success. wheeled about upon the last failure, and off towards the Helpstone Woods. We fortunately began with Hays Wood, and were shortly gladdened by the cheering cry, "Gone, away!" We were shortly back at Grimeshaw, and, skirting the woods which we had drawnblank in the morning, bore away for Royce Wood, about which we hung a few minutes, and then away for Ashton village. It seemed now by no means impossible that we should get away, but a few minutes more and that hope was lost: we came to a check at Ashton Thorns, and when we got away found Pug had started for the Hauglands, the usual retreat for a true Soke fox. An amusing incident took place on our road thither, occasioned by a gentleman placing himself on his chesnut hard upon the brush of bold Reynard, and well in before the hounds. The Reverend John Hopkinson stormed, Lord Milton rode and halloo'd, the Whips bellowed, but the " deaf gentleman," for such he was, like the lady Baussiere, "rode on." He was ultimately captured, and turned out to be Mr. Ben Warwick, and, in reply to the many expostulations, reproaches, and hard names showered upon him, simply said, " she ran away, Sir, and I could not hold her" the common calamity in such cases. However, the fox kindly took wind in the Hanglands, and after rating poor Ben we set to work, and in about a quarter of an hour got away for Woodcroft, where, however, he was headed, and turned again towards the woods, and on for Ashton Thorns. This was not reached without a good deal of work, and really Lord Fitzwilliam and Lord Milton were deserving of a better day, for they toiled in the woods like men who are determined to overcome all obstacles. Back we came to Hilly Wood, which we had threaded in the morning, and there I left them to it, having tired my horse and myself and seen no sport after all. I heard Lord Fitzwilliam expressed his disappointment at not finding the coverts near the Park; but really it is not to be wondered at, seeing the unrestrained career which the poachers have had in all His Lordship's woods, who made equal havoc no doubt with foxes as with hares. This is the second day that they have drawn all the best coverts near the kennel without a find, which looks ill for the rest of this season and the cub-hunting of next. Having given you a hasty sketch of a day without sport, I will ere long drop you a line of something better, which I trust we shall get shortly in Huntingdonshire, or the distant coverts in this county. Peterborough, December 18, 1837. PAD. SPORT IN THE WEST. AS CALVUS, that old sportsman, with his amiable setter Otho, was walking over the moors in quest of snipes, he met a woman: Sir," quoth she, "they've a hanged up dead foxes, them filthy varmints, in Shaugh church-yard; can they own the doing of it?"" I suppose, Prettyface," (she was pretty some twenty-five years since, but Calvus is now, and always was the most polite and gallant of men): "I suppose, my dear," answered he, " you ask me if it is a lawful act; I fear that nuisance is a lawful nuisance, yet it is horrible, disgusting, and sacrilegious-Shall the putridity oozing from the carcase of a dead dog (fox is the same thing) besprinkle and defile the grave of the true believer? Shall a noisome pestilence of stench assail the nostrils and affect the health of the truly pious church-going Christian? Heaven forbid! I tell you this, Mistress, it is the beastly act of ignorant men; it is the antilumination darkness of clouded minds; it is a stoppage of the march of intellect; it is a brutal and carnal seeking after pelf, which the law makers and menders of this enlightened age should surely abolish, and that right soon, by act of parliament. Must the Reverend Clergyman, as he goeth into church to his Sunday's or other sacred duty, submit to the mockery and insult of seeing a dead animal swinging from a tree over the grave of the lately-buried elder or consumption-stricken maiden? Must he submit to the sight of beer-stricken youths and garrulous old sinners, assembled in a crowd, and treading upon the dust of their quondam fellow-parishioners-yea, mayhap of their own parents, not for the sake of being ready to enter the house of prayer with their pastor, no! but for the sake of talking over the murder of the poor innocent hanging upon the tree? He must submit; it is the law, though it is an horrible, beastly, devilish law, and there's an end."- "Well, Sir, quoth she, "if it be really so, I wish I had the ordering of things, I would soon do away with it."There, good woman; for that saying I give you this half-crown." With the same Calvus pouched her, and they parted. - -As, full of thought he wended his way over the snipeless moors, he thus broke forth with loud voice and energetic gesticulation.-(I should prologue to this burst of poetic feeling of the old man, that he had the day before his walk witnessed much time lost in the vain endeavor to dig a fox which had been earthed by a capital pack of fox-hounds full of blood and steadiness): 66 Why dig ye, fair and honorable men? It is unsportsmanlike! leave that dull act I would incorporate with herds of swine, The annual Ivybridge Fox-hunting Meeting commenced on Monday the 13th of November, with Sir Walter Carew's hounds.-Met at Glaze Bridge, Found many foxes, but had not scent enough to hunt them. Rain and fog upon the moors. Tuesday, November 14.-Mr. Bulteel's hounds, Tolchmoor Gate.Unkennelled from Packland Brake. Could not hunt him a yard. Cold rain all day. After the non-sport of the day, the gentlemen fox-hunters dined at Mrs. Stevenelt's inn in Ivybridge, when Bacchus |