But my friend the post-boy must have a word, though not in jacket and boots, for you have had them before; but his driving, his sacreing, his bottom bumping, his "hourra" when one leg gets into the stirrup, his catching up all the ropes instead of ribbons, and his start at full speed sur l'instant, his wisdom in ways, his mulish walk up hill, and his mad-headed run down, and withal his nice eye to shy wheels and posts, speak astonishment to me, and make such heroes as Jack Peer and long Stevey lower their topsails; they can come their strokes, and do them well they say, and I know; but my friend, when he catches the crop in his left hand, and gives a clipper over his shoulder to the off-flank of the off-wheeler, sets all their

shake of twenty-four hours. Te be sure there's caffé at Blois; but what with side-calls and hot milk, you cannot swallow it in time, so obey the twang twang in despair. If a man means to eat on this jour ney, he must store his bag, and suck the green bottle of Burgundy, as I did.

It is curious I should change ends and begin my journey again -so it is, and I shall not alter it. It is long; and if I tell all I saw and all I heard, my story will not be short. Enough has been said to shew the manner and therefore, leaving country, towns, and vineyards, I am again at Bordeaux without a stoppage, an accident, or a knot to untie; for we disdain buckling. "Whatever is, is right;" so I rejoice to be back, for I entirely forgot to mention, before, the existing rivalry to my fox-hunting chum; and this by a Spanish Grandee, who likewise has a pack of hounds-they to hunt, and he to eat the lièvre. This is a rare animal in these parts, and therefore requires many men and many things to find him out. We crossed upon La Chasse in going one morning to covert-Signor Don in front, upon a Catalonian grey, big head, no body, and long tail, in a green habit, with flaps as long as Hyde Park ladies; a high-crowned cap, in Giraffe velvet; a French horn over his shoulder; a whipin lengthy unison; bolt upright à la menage! six aids-de-camp, some in blue and some in brown, but quite alike in shape and feature. Hunting is nothing without music: therefore six men and six horns are money's worth. We happened to hit upon a symphonic check; and if I could write quavers and minims as well as I can hunting phrases, you should have the tune.

The breed in England has been gradually declining, and its size studiously diminished by a mixture of other kinds to increase its speed-only preserving any degree of purity in the blue-mottles. I had many pressing invites to see and hear their sniffing and music; but with all my exertion I could not procure any horse slow enough for the purpose, and I had not patience to walk.

Look at the picture in your mind's eye of these six uprights (all in jacks, rather refined), upon ambling prancers, and twenty-four of these large dew-laps rolling in a cast over the wiles of a hare, with six noses buried in the sand, and six upon their sterns with heads in the air, ringing Shakspeare's bells, and all the horns flourishing ac companiment. This is none of your magic fancy!

Thus ends my hunting pictures; but I cannot refrain from stating that my predictions of fine runs have been realised-having received an account lately in these words:-"We met at St. Amand, VOL. XXI. N. S.-No. 126.

found immediately, and after an hour and a half in the forest he went to ground; we soon found another fox, and instead of hanging in covert he dashed boldly across the Landes. We started at flying pace, and had only one check in fifty minutes, pug having lain up-it was but momentary, and a short and quick loose put his head into Too-leroo's bag. The next day we went to Tallien, and after a long draw found at the edge of the forest. He flew instantly, and after a beautiful chase of more than twelve miles, ground again. Alas! my friend, this is our great evil. To stop the country effectually appears hopeless however, your chum, the whipper, and his stilting lads, do wonders. How I long for your supply from Mr. Hanbury!" Again:

"Bordeaux, Feb. 8.-We found in a bit of furze, where I threw in at the back of the garden of La Trappe Monastery; got very well away with our fox across the open, and after trying his earth in a wood at a little distance, took to running the borders of the woods near the Landes, so that we could lay pretty well with the hounds, and I think for about twenty minutes I never saw any thing quicker. This puzzled friend reynard, who then took to the open again, and crossed about a couple of miles of the Landes; still we kept close to him, and he gained another wood, where I got a view of him. They then ran him through the hedge rows and small coverts to the end of the inclosures, where the Landes present nothing but a sea, if I may use the expression. Here my gallant fellow took the bull by the horns, and boldly faced the open, going God knows whither; but after a very quick race for twenty-five Xx

minutes we had a check from a flock of sheep, for two minutes, when he jumped out of a small bit of heather, and a view of five minutes gave us as beautiful a kill as ever I saw, after a run of an hour and twenty-five minutes, going all the time at speed, and mostly over the open. I have measured the distance as the crow flies, on the large map, and make it as near twenty miles English as possible."

Upon the wings of anticipation we fly to our pleasures, and for a while the mind is enraptured with their attractions. Give these feelings a little time, and then they begin to fade: we heave a grateful sigh for the enjoyment, and cast our longing eye for dear home and all its spotless comforts. I turned my back upon all youthful vagaries, got once more into the malle, and whirled up to Paris.

Farewel, Bordeaux! wines, Landes, gri

settes, and balls!

Adieu to these delights! Adieu all boyish calls!

Time and such things have thinn'd my

flowing hair,

And in their sweeping ran have touch'd

my cheeks with care.

No longer youth inspires! no longer warms the clay,

For age and other ills usurp their fatal sway!

Thus far had I travelled; and, with Paris in my eye, meant a farther trespass; but remembering your injunction, Mr. Editor, and feeling that I cannot compress all I have to say in the limits prescribed, I must defer the finis to your next Number.

P. P.

Dogs" may have a full account of their performance on this most justly celebrated ground. The weather during the week was fine, and the hares of the stoutest kind; those courses which bear this mark

were uncommonly severe. The last race for the Cup was not such as could have been wished for, indeed, it was the only bad hare found for a Cup course: had a stout one been raised, the result might have been different. The Puppy Stakes were won by Mr. Conington's Helen, by Hercules, only fifteen months old, adding one more to the already long list of winners by that celebrated stallion greyhound. Matilda (by Hercules) had a most severe course on the second day with Major, who never once served her in the run, which caused her to start very stiff on the last day. Had this not been the case, she would have given her opponent some trouble. Matilda's condition was " perfect;" as was also that of her sister, who also won her match, though it does not appear in the list, being made on the ground. The hares (considering this being the third public meeting in the present season on the Withcall ground) were plentiful, and straight forward ones.

To Mr. Dawson, the occupier of Withcall, the warmest thanks of the members are due. Upon this and every other similar occasion, he has shewn the greatest possible liberality of conduct; indeed, were it not for his kindness in preserving the ground, this meeting would not have arrived at its present celebrity.

On Saturday an excellent dinner was provided at the King's Head, of which one-and-twenty gentlemen partook, and parted

highly gratified with the sport of the week. At this meeting, Sir B. R. Graham and Mr. John Golden were elected members of the Society. The dogs of the former have once made their appearance upon the Withcall ground, and, from their performance, are of the very first order. Sir B. is now, I believe, the owner of Minikin and Thetis, late the property of the Rev. F. Best-certainly one of the very first class. Such bitches as these, crossed with that " dog of dogs" Hercules, must necessarily produce perfection itself. If you think this worthy a place in your truly amusing Magazine, insert it, if not, do with it as Jackey Latin ordered his Satanic Majesty to do with his wife, "Why burn her, devil, burn her." Yours, &c.

Louth, Feb. 13, 1828.

SCUT.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1828.

For the Cup.-Mr. G. Heneage's blk. and wh. b. Laurel beat Mr. G. Alington's bl. d. Peter; Mr. Dawson's bl. d. Major beat Mr. Bartholomew's blk. b. Whim; Mr. G. Heneage's red b. Lady beat Mr. E. Heneage's blk. and wh. b. Levity; Colonel Elmhirst's blk. b. Brunette beat Mr. W. Elmhirst's wh. d. Coxcomb; Mr. E. Heneage's brin. b. Lark beat Mr. Yorke's bl. d. Youthful; Mr. R. Chap

lin's red and wh. b. Matilda beat Mr. Booth's f. b. Fawn.

All-Age Stakes. Mr. G. Alington's blk. d. Rival beat Mr. G. Chaplin's d. b. Haughty; Mr. G. Heneage's blk. b. Lais beat Mr. Yorke's red d. Yeoman; Mr. H. Dymoke's blk. b. Jessy beat Mr. E. Heneage's blk. and wh. b. Latona; Mr. Dawson's blk. b. Venus beat Mr. Bartholomew's f. b. Fan.

Puppy Stakes.-Mr. Conington's red b. Helen beat Mr. R. Chaplin's red and wh. b. Kitty; Mr. Dawson's red b. Fly beat Mr. G. Chaplin's red d. Random: Mr. Booth's wh. b. Bluebell beat Mr. G. He neage's bl. d. Lavender: Mr. G. He neage's blk. d. Spring beat Mr. E. Heneage's bl. d. Lancer.

Matches. Mr. E. Heneage's blk. and wh. b. Levity beat Mr. G. Alington's bl. d. Peter; Mr. Conington's red ticked b. Dauntless beat Mr. G. Heneage's blk. and

wh. b. Latona.

Paris, Jan. 3, 1828. DEAR JACK-You may guess the condition of an old fox-hunter set down for a winter in Paris. This infernal gout, a broken thigh, and a broken constitution, obliged me to "shut up." Abernethy recommended my spending the

winter here, more, I believe, to get me out of temptation than any thing else; so, having sold the horses, I crossed the Channel with my violoncello, and took lodgings in the Rue Vivienne for four months.

Now that the violoncello is the only nag I can ride, you will allow there is some advantage in being the bit of a fiddler you used to laugh at; but yet there is nothing I so much delight in as, "Hark forward!"-" Yonder they go!" nor will the fine notes of Pisaroni and Sontag ever raise my spirits like "the Southerly wind and the cloudy sky" we used to sing to gether.

Many thanks for your amusing letters, particularly for the detail of sport in Lincolnshire and Leicestershire. The more I hear of the present style of riding, the more I am confirmed in the argument I have so often held, that the school of old sportsmen was better than the modern school of wild, over-riding gentry. Thomas Ashe ton Smith did, and Mr. Musters and Mr. R. Lambton do, keep a field in order, but in most other establishments it is Bedlam let loose.

In Lincolnshire, in olden times, I saw the best hunting, and the best sport. In Leicestershire, under T. A. Smith, some things brilliant, and always a field in command, and the reign of Osbaldeston with the Monson pack at Barton, have contented me for not witnessing the forty seven minutes from the Coplow to Hallaton and killed, and the one hour and twenty-seven minutes from Cream Gorse to Stockerston and killed, which T. A. Smith says are the two best runs in his memory. Mr. Musters's science compensates for

never having seen Meynell; T. A. Smith, for never having seen Lindow.

I am glad to hear that Osbaldeston has good sport; he deserves every thing for his perseverance, and was well styled by Colonel Lowther "The Moonlight Hunter," and the "Georgium Sidus." How is he mounted, and what became of Asheton? He was in Holyoake's hands when I last heard of him, but Holyoake would be too heavy for him. He would be better in the hands of Goodricke, who rode the Smasher well, whereas Holyoake could never shine upon him; Osbaldeston could only ride him when tamed down by Dick. Dick and Asheton were always friends; but he is about the best horseman I ever saw; and in the noted run from the Coplow to Ranksbro' Hill, when Asheton carried Osbaldeston so well, it was with a second fox, and the horse had a very bucketing affair in the morning to sober him. A better heart and bottom than Asheton's never went out; but Empson's (you remember that "flying parson") "Shaven" was his master, having these qualities, with the addition of temper.

The report that Ralph Lambton may probably come to Barton gives me pleasure and pain: pleasure, that the best country for hounds in the world should be hunted by a tip-top sportsman; and pain, that I am crippled and gouty, and cannot join the cry. But what a wise step Ralph takes-what a wise step Lady Warwick takes-and what a God-send for the country, especially Charles Chaplin, who is a real sportsman, and will appreciate Ralph's merits. Mr. R. Lambton is a gentleman and a shining master of hounds, second