CLUB

MOST Potent, Grave, and Reverend Signors! Your valued and highly-respectable member, Mr. Knight, of Godmersham Park, has addressed you in a very grave manner on bowling. The discussion may be termed scientifical, historical, philosophical, mathematical, anatomical, characteristical, and withal bombastical, The serious manner in which he has treated the subject appals me; and the earnestness of his supplication for the adoption of his fafourite mode only confirms his fancied importance of it.

I will not argue upon the principles of throwing-they may be like his straight-arm work, or may not: but suppose him able to wipe away this stigma, there's another still remains, which is not in his dictionary-shying; and if Lilly, Broad, and Knight don't shy, Then your humble servant tells a lie.

It is nonsense to talk of umpires' likes and hates-no cricketer will allow them such mental acuteness.

If, however, such whims should prevail, they are more to be dreaded in a six-foot native, who, if he wishes to break the shins of his enemy, has only to put a little more powder in the shoulder, or the el

bow, or the wrist, straighten the arm, and the job is done.

the field.

I deny the hitting to be better than in former times. Look at my list in your Number for last July (p. 118), and prove the contrary

if

you can.

The ensuing season, I hope, will shew better taste, and display somebody fresh in old fashion.

The discussion that has occurred will lead, however, to good, and I trust will stimulate some ardent youth to emulate such men as Lumpy, Harris, Boxall, Lambert, Lord Frederick, &c. &c. &c., and then the cry will change, "We want better hitters."

March 7th.-Met the Duke of Beaufort at his favorite covert, called Farmington Grove, not far from Burford and Bibury's renowned race course. Found directly, and killed instanter-no doubt, a vixen. Found again in a covert belonging, I believe, (for I am a stranger here,) to Mr. Dolphin. Ran up to Farmington Grove, and thence into Lord Sherborne's park, and killed him in a farm yard, near his Lordship's house. A pretty thing, and well finished.

I thought the hounds were looking fit for business, but not so fine and smooth in their coats as when I saw them in 1823, under the management of old Philip-God bless him for he is a rare hand in the kennel.

I thought the servants well mounted, and all right: Todd as keen as ever: Will Long, now huntsman, not an harmonious voice, nor (à la Musters) pleasant doglanguage. I always thought him a capital whip; but there is a difference, NIMROD would say, between the rate of a whipper-in, and the encouraging tone of a first fiddle. There was an immense field from all sides of the surrounding country, and from Cheltenham, but not the least opportunity for

any of them to display their riding powers.

Friday, 7th-Met the Duke again at Boulters Barn. A very hard frost, and very awkward riding. Nerves queer, and began to wish we had not had 't'other bottle' over night. Found several foxes at Addlesthorpe Hill, near Chipping Norton-the residence of the late Marquis Hastings. A miserable scent, and ran only a few fields, and lost. Found again in a gorse in the vale, called Long Borough Lees-a very promising country-but could do nothing.

Saturday, 8th.-Met Colonel Berkeley's at Segincote, the seat of Sir C. Cockerell, Bart. A very good turn-out. Horses capital; of hounds I am not judge enough to speak. Drew Bourton Wood (near the old training stables) without finding, but found at Spring Hill gorse, and he went away like a good one, the very best pace, for Lord Northwich's park; crossed it-through Sedgefield wood, and into a drain, a few fields beyond. Bolted, and killed him. A capital twenty minutes.

Monday, 10th.-Met the Duke at Sandford Park. Drew Werton Heath, without finding. Found in a gorse hard by, and killed after a good fifty minutes, over a fine country to the right of Great Tew.

Tuesday, 11th.-Met the Warwickshire at Woolford Wood. Found, and ran for more than an hour, but no pace, owing to ob structions from fallow ground, and plough-people. Went to earth at Weston Park. These hounds are under a new manager, Robert Fellowes, Esq. who seems to have given general satisfaction, and their sport has, on the whole, been good. I am happy to have it in my

power to add, this country makes a fair show of foxes, although not so good as when I saw it last. How ever, I must not forget the number already killed, and "we cannot have the cake and eat it too." It was very much my wish to have had a day with Lord Kintore, in his Berkshire country, which I have heard spoken so highly of; but my stud is too weak this year for travelling. Report says his Lordship is doing the thing well, and has rendered himself a great favorite in his hunt-one great point gained.

HAVING been enabled to draw

from Marshall's almost inexhaustible store another original sketch of a jockey, viz.-Robinson, in the riding suit of Sir John Shelley, Bart. in which he won the Derby last year, I send it you for publication. I found no difficulty in obtaining this, in consequence of the very superior way in which you got up the portrait of Chifney, which, I must say, does infinite credit to the Engraver, to your work, and indeed to all parties concerned. To be short and plain-if you go on in so spirited a way, you will never want subjects, painters, or engravers, nor (what to you is of infinitely more importance) patrons to support a work so entertaining, useful, and ornamental, and that has now become so universally read in all quarters of the globe.

Mr. James Robinson was born at Newmarket. I have no doubt, from their now becoming him so well, that his first dress was a cap and jacket; his first toys a comb

and brush; and the first thing which pleased his fancy, and what many children hate so much, was a whip. His father, who is still living, was a trainer, and has ever borne a highly respectable character in his station of life. He has long been known by the name of Joppa Robinson; but whether his godfathers and godmothers, or the lads in the lane, gave it him, is of little consequence now, as he would not be known by any other. He last trained for Mr. Crockford; in whose employ, if he had been the best trainer in the world, he would have had but little or no chance of shewing his talent; nor was his successor, or successors, more fortunate, though a part of them, in trying their talents as trainers, called in the powerful aid of steam.

The fact was, Mr. Crockford managed his stud very badly; and the only excuse I can make for him is, he had "other fish to fry." Our young jockey was early put up, and was fast rising in the estimation of the Sporting World, under the countenance of Mr. Robson of Newmarket, then the most extensive as well as the most successful trainer in the kingdom; but now, unfortunately, his stables are like the deserted village: grass and filthy weeds are doomed to grow on the very spot where the proud courser lately stretched his graceful limbs on clean rye straw. Stop! stop! this can be no amusement to those who did not know the place, and only sorrow to those who did. But here it was young Robinson spent his early days, and acquired the first knowledge of the science of riding the race horse. He was so diminutive he could not reach the stirrup with his hand, and he had as good a chance of ascending the Throne as mount