in the act of slaughtering the last of them, whilst perched on the brim of the sugar-basin, he performed a double office he killed the fly, and, at the same time, sent a cup of boiling, black coffee into my lap, to the no small discoloration of my white trousers, to say nothing of its scalding effects.

As a play-man, Martin Hawke was more sinned against than sinning. I have reason to believe he was a loser, on the long run; and cannot bring myself to imagine him capable of ever having taken an unfair advantage of his adversary. That he was actively alive to the fine feelings of humanity, I can speak from personal knowledge of him ;- from the intense anxiety he exhibited during the long illness of his only daughter, and the mental suffering her death occasioned to him, which doubtless hastened his own. In fact, he told me, it had given him the fatal stab, assuring me his days were numbered, and that they would be but few. He survived this melancholy event, however, about two years, sinking into, for him, a very early grave; forasmuch as, from his generally temperate habits, addiction to outdoor exercises, and very expansive frame, he might have been expected to have reached extreme old age. The complaint that killed him was angina pectoris, or water on the chest; and his death was

somewhat in character with his life. He offered to bet the doctor who attended him ten to one he did not live to see the first day of the ensuing month; nor did he. Peace to his ashes. There may have been many better men; but, for one that excelled him, thousands will be found his inferiors,- unexpectedly so, perhaps, when the awful day of reckoning shall come. He was totally without guile, openly displaying his faults in front; but his virtues were discernible, notwithstanding they had to work their way through a somewhat rough exterior.

The following song, written and sung by himself, will not fail to give such of my readers as may have never seen him, a pretty correct idea of the sort of man the author of it was, and will cause many of them to exclaim, "I should have liked to have been acquainted with this Martin Hawke ; he must surely have been a trump." And a trump he was.

"Oh! when I was a mere chick- a pretty little boy,-
To mount our errand donkey gave me the greatest joy,
And, even in that young age, quite up to many a trick,
I made poor Neddy canter, jump about, and kick:

For a sportsman I was born.

I mounted next a pony, with flowing mane and tail,

And, sticking to the huntsman, would o'er the country sail;

And though so long a time has passed, I still with rapture think

How very oft the brush I won, arrayed in sporting pink.

I now have follow'd hunting for many happy years,

And always laugh'd at danger, as merely childish fears;

The foxhound I have studied, in field and in the kennel,

And was up, the Billesden Coplow day, the best e'er known, with Meynell.

And, oh! I shall remember, ev'n to my dying day,

His tally-ho! when Meynell viewed this fox away;

I think I see him still, upon his gallant black,

With Come away!' and 'Hark away!' to cheer the flying pack.

I'll ne'er forget the splendid days from Melton which I've seen,
And jovial nights, which chased away all sorrow, care, and spleen:
Oh! no;- these scenes of early life come o'er me like a dream;
One brilliant ray to cheer the gloom of life's fast ebbing stream.
From Whetstone Gorse I rode a horse, but fifteen hands, or under,
Well known to fame, Tomtit his name, and quite the country's wonder;
So fast he went, on a burning scent, o'er brook and ox-fence skimming,
He proved to all, that though so small, he knew the art of trimming.

From Barkby Holt, like a thunderbolt, I darted, on Antæus;
And though, no doubt, many clippers were out, the devil of one could see us.
Like pigeon blue, so fast he flew, away o'er hill and valley,
That from the meet, the field dead-beat, had never time to rally.

I've had a thousand tumbles, some plump upon my head;
Have broke my arms, my legs; - also, been taken up for dead;
And now, though nearly sixty, still can ride as hard as ever;
When mounted on a thorough-bred, can do the thing so clever.

I've charged the Smite with famed Tom Smith, when, touching knee to knee;
I've swam the Trent with gallant Jack, when rolling like the sea;
Though deadly blown, I never turned from timber stiff and strong;
It would not break, it would not bend, but still I dashed along.
You seem surprised; at once, kind sir, to counsel true attend ;
The eagle eye, and fearless heart, must both assistance lend:
I pull him hard, I set him straight, he cannot baulk or shy;
I lift him up, and, at the time, both whip and spurs apply.

I've hunted oft with Sefton, with Foley, Lonsdale too,
And, with Tom Smith and Musters, the varmint would pursue;
With Sykes and Osbaldeston have rode the glorious burst;
And still, with ev'ry pack I've met, believe me, I've been first.
On Scotland's hills, with Baily, have seen his foxhounds fly;
With Hay, of Dunn, and Lothians, beheld old Reynard die;
With Scarborough and with Hawke have seen the fearful rush,
Of dashing o'er park palings, in challenging the brush.

From ditches deep, in Essex, ne'er turn'd my horse away;
With Calcraft and with Eagle,* have beat them all, I say;
From Honey Grove I saw a fox break gallantly at Nore,
Ran thirty miles, and nobly died down on the Harwich shore.
In Touraine long I've hunted-the wolf, the boar, and stag,
And often shewn the Frenchmen how fleet's an English nag;
And when the boar's been brought to bay, my still unerring shot
Has proved to all, my shooting, like my riding, not forgot.

And is it not most gallant sport to bring the boar to bay,—
To trace the wild stag to his lair,- to chase the wolf away?
Oh! long may then, o'er Touraine's heath, such gallant sport be ours,
While memory true, of former feats, shall strew our path with flowers.
Then fill the glass, and let it pass, in cups of sparkling wine,
The glorious chase, the foremost place, and all we've seen lang syne;-
And may we all keep up the ball, for many, many a day,

Enjoy the fun, and many a run,- till time shall pass away:

For sportsmen we will die!”

* A gentleman farmer, near Colchester.

THE CHASE:

ITS STATE AND PROSPECTS, AS INDICATED IN THE PAST
HUNTING SEASON.

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BY THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS OF A MODERN FOX-HUNTER.'

GOLDSMITH'S bearward, who danced his shaggy companion to none but the genteelest of tunes-" Water parted," or the "Minuet in Ariadne," was a philosopher whose theory would have done credit to a far more distinguished professor. It is not to the historian, the poet, the painter, the orator, or the statesman, that the world is alone beholden for her progress in all that has advanced and embellished society. There is no walk in life so lowly, that he who pursues it may not find himself in a condition to contribute an occasional mite to the social commonwealth. With this conviction, I enter upon the inquiry which will form the matter of this paper. I believe the subject to be one of infinitely greater concern than the mere utilitarian is disposed to admit I regard it as possessing an importance the greater, that its relations are exclusively national. For a century and a half the chase has formed the great reunion for all classes in the rural districts of these islands. It has been well said, that, in this country, a young man could not find a better introduction to the world than that afforded by a Leicestershire cover side: I am sure that no English gentleman can adopt a more certain path to popularity than that which shall conduct him to the fixtures of the foxhounds by which his neighbourhood is hunted.

Will it be asked, "to what does this preface relate?" I fear not: I wish it were not a fact so obvious, a proposition so self-evident, that, for the last five or six years, fox-hunting has, by slow but sure degrees, fallen from its once palmy condition among us. It is not that the high names which have so long shed lustre upon the annals of the chase have ceased to be numbered among its patrons; it is not that the Rutlands, the Graftons, the Fitzwilliams, the Lonsdales, the Beauforts, the Yarboroughs, the Clevelands, have withdrawn their countenance from British fox-hunting: it is the growing indifference to the cause manifested by the gentry and yeomanry in some districts the open hostility displayed by them in others, which but too evidently shew the present jeopardy of one of the noblest-the most manly of our rural sports. The spirit that sent forth our fathers to the sylvan "type of glorious war" has not departed from their sons. To a more refined taste, in habits and pursuits, we have neither added effeminacy nor the love of unmanly ease. Whence, then, the causes that threaten the ruin of a sport which, more than any other, identifies itself with the enterprise and ardour of the British character? I will endeavour to answer the inquiry. While the changes, which so surely and so constantly wait upon the progress of time, have called into existence many tastes and pursuits inimical to the interests of the chase, latter years have been productive of no single event calculated to assist or uphold its condition. The local metamorphoses which have been effected by the

VOL. III.

3 K

agency of the railroad, have severely interfered with the prosperity of several once popular districts. I do not mean to attribute this evil to any injury inflicted, by the passage of railways through countries, upon their fitness for fox-hunting (a generally received cause of annoyance, which I believe to be much overrated), but to the greatly improved facility which they afford of transit to particular localities, to the detriment of such as do not possess similar advantages. A man who can transport himself and his hunter from town, any morning after breakfast, in time to meet the Quorn or the Pytchley, and return the same day, himself to his penates in May-fair, and his nag to his accustomed box, can scarcely be expected to subscribe to, or patronize, a suburban pack of foxhounds, or keep a stud in Surrey or Herts. Hence arise two inconveniences-a too liberal supply to fields already overstocked, and the taking from the scanty treasury and attendance of such as can ill afford it, the little which they possess.

Untoward as these influences are felt to be, in particular cases, the whole economy of the chase has lately been invaded and perplexed by one of the most obnoxious items ever added to the catalogue of our field sports. I will but adduce two of the properties of the STEEPLE-CHASE, to prove that it merits, and will, assuredly, one day, receive the universal execration of every true sportsman in this land. It has fomented many rural jealousies, by bringing individual feelings into collision, as well as affording pretext for much vexatious trespass; and it has given birth to an equestrian rivalry, of all nuisances the most unequivocally fatal to the sport of fox-hunting. The good sense of Englishmen, I am satisfied, will allow no long reign to this pernicious, bastard pastime; and I would leave it to work out its own destruction, but that there is one feature in its system that appears to have been overlooked by the many talented persons who, in this book and elsewhere, have borne witness against it. As a medium for speculation-that false excitement, which too many seek in pursuits worthy a better purpose— it is obnoxious to more suspicion and distrust than the "rouge et noir" of Leicester-square; or the thimble-rig of Epsom and Ascot. In legitimate racing, there is the self-interest of the official employed in the most important of its details to ensure- at all events, to make it most probable, that the best will win. In the steeple-chase, in many cases, the owner rides, and "does as he likes with his own;" or a gentleman" is put up, having no responsibility, in the way of character or penalty. Few people have a conception of the number of steeple-chases annually made safe: "a blot is not a blot 'till it is hit." It may serve to illustrate the system, to state, that an individual who, in the present season, is riding as a gentleman jock, in races, the articles of which require them to be ridden" by gentlemen," last year announced himself, in the public papers, to be a common rogue and

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cheat!

Another novelty, and one, unfortunately, of growing adoption, is that of hunting districts by means of trading professors in the art and mystery of the chase. No doubt, in every calling that requires knowledge and skill, it is most desirable that such as undertake an office should bring to the discharge of their duties a thorough perception of all its details, aided and matured by practical experience. Still, in