THIS has been a stirring month in these parts, between the excitement preceding, and consequent on, the Royal marriage, and a series of splendid sport. I know you are not fond of the mere topographical details of a run, however excellent; and, without saying that I am exactly of a like opinion, avoid running counter to your wish. One of the best days, at the commencement, was the Friday before the auspicious event, when we met at Uxbridge Common. The deer was "Hampton," a tried good one, and he certainly forfeited none of his fame on this occasion. From the moment the hounds owned him, to the take, close to the Hippodrome, the pace was tremendous, and the country a killing one for horses. At one time I thought we were booked for Hyde Park. There were but two very short checks; which, however, let a few more in than would have been there otherwise; the field was very select at the finish. Lord Kinnaird went well all through, and was up at the take.

Monday, the 10th, was, of course, a dies non, as far as the chase went, all the servants of the Royal Hunt passing it, as became the day, in mirth and good cheer.

Wednesday, the 12th, produced a long and severe run, which I pass untold, to come to its successor-a brilliant occasion, to be marked with a white stone in our annals. The Court having arrived at the Castle, on Wednesday, to join the Royal Couple, who had passed the previous happy days "the world forgetting," Lord Alfred Paget, at the instance of Prince Ernest, got up a "bye" for the morrowsharp work, as the hounds would thus have three field days in succession. But, of course, a wish from such a source was law; and, accordingly, the meet took place at the residence of Lord Kinnaird. Such a turn out is not often seen, even in Royal wood-craft. The Duke of Gotha, a prince of a most unpretending and affable presence, drove the Duchess of Sutherland; and there were the Lords Steward and Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse, and a train of dazzling equipages, enough to set all Portland Place on fire. The deer had been already despatched to the point where it had been arranged to enlarge him; but, of course, all former plans were given to the winds, when it was announced a wish existed that he should be turned out in the Park,

as Her Majesty, accompanied by Prince Albert, proposed coming to see the "hunting of that day." Forthwith, Bob Bartlett, with his jolly red face, was despatched, with orders to uncart the venison at Sandpit Gate (a beautiful spot); and Davis, having evidently selected that point under a conviction that the deer would cross the road between the farm gate and the cottage, placed the Royal company so that they might have a commanding view of the chase. The event crowned his judicious tactics, for he passed the noble party, at best pace, in a style fit "to place before a king,"-ay, or a queen either, even the lovely monarch of the isle that Dian hath chosen for her peculiar abidingplace. The deer was taken after a rattling burst of three-quarters of an hour; and, at the conclusion of the ceremony, the brave pack was honoured by the inspection of Her most Gracious Majesty, who was present in a pony phaeton, driven by her Royal Consort. I marked the flushed cheek, and flashing eye, with which he looked upon the scene; and never trust my reading of the human face again, if Prince Albert will not yet do honour to "the chase, the sport of Britain's kings." Friday, 14th. The fixture for "the morn of Valentine" was Iver Heath; but when we arrived there, the fog was so dense that hunting was out of the question; while, at Ascot Heath, the sun shone all day, as blithely as in July.

Monday, 17th. Salt Hill; a very large field, to meet Prince Ernest, who came down from London, accompanied by Lord Alfred Paget. The deer was enlarged near Slough, but turned sulky, and would not go. Another was, however, tried, and he set to work as if he meant business, giving us a regular burster over the meadows, skirting the Thames for Eton Wick, and, finally, being secured hard by Dorney Court. We are now returned to the straw bed, for February is closing its career, "frosty and unkindly.”

THE QUORN-LORD HASTINGS, &c.

Friday, January 24th. Mr. Hodgson at Six Hills-a large field. The old hostelrie here, that has afforded shelter and refreshment for kings, lords, and commons, in many a pitiless storm, has absolutely marched over the way; at least the sign has, as it is now affixed to the only neighbouring cottage. What associations are connected with that house! How often have I seen the best blood of Europe going snacks with our yeomanry within its walls. Sportsmen gazed with wonderment, this morning, as they trotted into the old yard, and learnt that they were no longer on public grounds. Tried Mundy's Gorse; a bootless task, that might have been spared: Mr. Hodgson may, by accident, find a fox in Burton Lordship, but it will be a miracle if he does. I have seen that gorse furnish a fox eleven consecutive times, and no mistake! Trotted off to Willoughby Gorse; saw a pitiable sight on the way-poor Mr. George Paget leading home his favourite horse, terribly lame from an overreach-a sight to awaken a sportsman's sympathies at any time, especially when a run was looked for; the hounds had been twenty-five minutes in the gorse before a note was heard; and even then, such was the fury of the storm, the sounds came so fitfully and faintly, as to leave the matter doubtful. Meanwhile, time must be killed; the weatherwise began their eternal prognosti

cations; antiquarians descanted on the ancient VEROMETUM, on the site of which we were standing; gossips had their tittle-tattle, and politicians discussed "privilege," till the storm set talking at defiance, and compelled many to ensconce themselves in the hedge-bottom. It grew louder and fiercer, strongly reminding one of Lear's apostrophe to the elements:

"Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage-blow."

In the midst of this hurly, out bounced master Reynard; the hounds, despite of wind and a thick covert, being got out close after him in a most masterly manner: he went right up wind; hats flew off, and broke from their moorings; one gentleman was fairly unhorsed by old Æolus; two or three lost the run for a castor, and one lost his castor for a run! In the teeth, however, of the wind and sleet, the fox kept on his way at a pace to put his pursuers' mettle to the test. Thorpe in Glebis was his first point; then, bearing to the right, he skirted Wysall village; crossed the brook, and pointed to Costock; then to Highfields, through the gorse, without a check, and threaded Bunny Öld Wood. Here three fresh foxes were unkennelled, and made a diversion in his favour, and the storm (which had never intermitted during the run) became so outrageous that no more good was done; it was a perfect tornado. "Short and sharp." "Pretty !"-"capital!"-"surprising, though," were the general exchanges; and, had the fox been killed, as I think he would have been, despite the elements, had no other foxes been afoot, this might have been pronounced one of the most wonderful short runs on record. I verily believe Lord Suffield's hounds would have turned their tails in the face of such a howling tempest. I remember a similar run, in a similar storm, with Mr. Osbaldeston, from the same covert, in 1815, but that was down wind.

Saturday, 25th. Lord Hastings' fixture was announced in the Nottingham papers to be at Cotes Turnpike-in the Leicester, at Colcorbon; I went to Cotes, and was right, though the mistake had misled many a thinner field with the Marquis was rarely witnessed; Mr. Farnham, our county member, Mr. Gough, Mr. Colquitt, the two Messrs. Paget, Mr. Vere Dashwood, and Mr. Cradock, with Lord Rancliff, being all that were out. The hounds did not arrive till twelve ; the willow holt was first tried, unsuccessfully, as might have been expected, for it was knee-deep in water; Prestwold next: and the hounds had scarcely entered the plantation in front of the hall, than a fox was viewed stealing away: they were laid on directly; the gallop through this park is always one of the finest scenes for pedestrian spectators that can be imagined, and even to those equestrians in whom the ardor equitandi does not exclude every other feeling and thought, the fine woodland scenery is a great adjunct to enjoyment. Reynard first pointed for Burton, but, having the fear of velveteen before his eyes, he wisely turned short at the boundary, and made again for Prestwold, where he was lost in the gardens. "Stanford Park is a sure find-at least for a circumbendibus fox," said Will Head, "and the day is too far gone to trifle ;" and thither we went. Now Stanford foxes are proverbially averse to leave their lodgings; and when under notice to quit, and forcibly ejected, they are much more prone to describe concentric circles than any other figure in Euclid. Two or three hours dodging in the park, is, therefore, a thing regularly looked