So

too well to trust to his commendations as to those of a buyer, he betakes himself to his cigar, which rather burns his mouth, and makes him expectorate largely. But a fox is gone away, and he means going. now is the time. He's in a strange country, and he'll astonish that supercilious looking man on the grey, or that heavy dragoon on the bay, or that good-looking man, whom he has heard addressed as My Lord, on the brown. He's read Nimrod, and he's an idea that if Snob rode himself into society at Melton (which I doubt), he'll do the same. So away he goes. That's a very nasty fence, not a flyer, and some good judge of what may be wanted in thirty-five minutes, like Lord Vivian or Mr. Villiers, is climbing it cleverly, instead of riding for a fall. Now's the time. So, shutting his teeth and his eyes, away he goes at the man who is about half way through, rather accelerating the hunter-like movements of the brown horse, and coming a burster on the top of his own head (luckily saving his arm or his leg by that means) into the next field. Not having improved the temper or wind of himself or his horse by this process, a few more casualties of the same kind happen to him, in which several downfals the unfortunate man just ahead of him is sure to be somehow involved. Reduced at last to a pound along the road in the wake of some welter-weight farmers, he arrives în time to see the field disperse after killing their fox, and has the satisfaction of retailing his tumbles, to him triumphs in the art of riding, to an admiring circle of would-be-gentlemen at other people's expense.

That's the sort I don't like. Give me the schoolboys on ponies-or even donkies-let them enjoy themselves; let's have the light-weight hobby-de-hoys on nunky's cob or the governor's hack; Oxford and Cambridge men, too-gentlemen, whose fathers and grandfathers have done such things before them, or are willing to enable their sons to do so now. But preserve us from your flash freshman, who never had a mount till he got it on tick, and will never have another when his tick has run out. Tradesmen may be pressing-doubtless they are-in the sale of their wares; their credit is long-so are their prices. Its all very well, too, to run a tilt at the University dons now and then, when a bad case occurs; but how they can prevent our friend, and hundreds like him, from going to the bow-wows his own way, I should like you to write me word. Perhaps if parents would look a little more after their own children, when away from the Universities, and fancy their geese ducks instead of swans, it might teach the young hopeful to look upon a bob as only a shilling, instead of expecting it to go the length of a sovereign. If young gentlemen imagine that they can have pinks, leathers, chains, cigars, champagne, and claret, for £250 per annum, the sooner they're in a lunatic asylum the better, the only surveillance likely to keep them in bounds.

You may thank the frost for this digression if you like it, and if not put it down among your January's disappointments, and send it on to Oxford or Cambridge; somebody is sure to find a likeness, though I suppose few only will recognize themselves-No. 1 is always the last house in the street one calls at for taxes.

So much for the frost of January; now for its open weather, for we had some sport, though impartiality forbids me to say that it was out of the common.

December closed with a week's snow-enough to prevent two or three

days' hunting, though this was not the case further south, nor indeed, I believe, in Warwickshire. Worcestershire is scarcely a hunting country, but there the snow seldom lies, from the nature of the soil, unless it is very severe elsewhere. However, December once over, the weight of pudding and bills not yet discharged, and cold turkey still appearing on the sideboard for breakfast, Duston and Lamport provided food for the more savage passions of man, as well as for the hounds; Dodford Holt, last year a sure find--indeed, time out of mind, a hold for the varmintwas blank. I think I heard the under-cover was partly destroyed. A fox was found in the afternoon, and run into after a good hunting run of no great pace. The Monday after that was, I fancy, Sulby; and on Wednesday, Ashby St. Ledger. It was from this cover that Mr. Payne had his brilliant run in December, over a great extent of country, running through Lord Southampton's, and killing in the Warwickshire, after an hour and forty minutes; in consequence of which a field of something like two hundred or two hundred and fifty found themselves at the park gates of Mrs. Arnold, of Ashby Lodge, about eleven o'clock, in a cold drizzle; the drizzle improved, but having eaten the good one last month, the bad ones were not at home to us. Ashby was a blank-a very unusual circumstance. Foxes had been seen about, however; so we drew Mr. Lamb's ozier bed and spinney-still to no purpose. What's the next move? Oh! Welton, I suppose, said Mr. Payne; there must be some foxes about. So away we went, past Bragborough ; in crossing the fields we met the Welton keeper, who had seen foxes that morning early; so we trotted off in renewed spirits. The side of the canal was blank-the small spinneys the same--the pheasantry ditto-in the ozier-bed over the road was a brick-kiln-Thrupp cover a rabbit or two. "Where now Payne? Dodford Holt ?"

"Oh, no! What's the use of going to Dodford at this time of day. We'll try Vanderplank's.'

So to Vanderplank's we went; three miles, through Watford. Things began to have rather a fishy appearance, for the hounds were in this small cover a few minutes before they spoke, then came a whimper, then a very decided challenge, and at last a chorus. Still it sounded not like a burning scent. Charles Payne, the huntsman, was at the West Haddon corner of the cover, where we generally assemble. A gentleman in black volunteered to watch the side parallel with the brook at the bottom of the cover, and very gingerly he took up his post, for he heard Mr. Payne's voice in the cover, and had an idea that, if caught sneaking down the hill, he might be considered an interloper. "Gone away!" sung out Charles Payne, and away we went; I was round the bottom of the cover first, having had an excellent start; Lord Vivian and Mr. Payne came through the covergate with the hounds up the hill, about a dozen in close attendance. For four fields we had a line of gates, and the field went brilliantly; then the fencing began. The pace was very good indeed up to the farm house, or rather down to it, as it lies at the bottom of the hill; here was a check. Mr. Villiers, Lord Vivian, Lord Henley, were leading this short gallop, Mr. Colville immediately behind them. "Hold hard, HI- ," said Mr. Payne, "pray hold hard; he's gone to the Folly again!" and so he was. In the Folly, however, he was not permitted to stay; it was no resting place for him-his folly found him out. Away he went to the right at the end of the cover, and

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INTERCEPTED CORRESPONDENCE FROM NORTHAMPTONSHIRE.

66

making his way at a pretty good pace to East Haddon, he skirted the village, the hounds checking for a second or two in the small field next to the road; down went their heads again, and across the park at the back of Mr. Sawbridge's, where they turned through a very small spinney at the top of the hill. By this time the field was getting more select, though the pace had not been so good as to shake off the secondclass men. In the large grass field below this spinney there was an obstacle, it was pretty clear, which would make a difference in point of numbers; for the brook runs along the hedge row, and a very nasty one it is; in the corner of the field, underneath the branches of a large tree, was the only place for those who were riding to the hounds; Mr. Payne, Lord Vivian, Mr. Villiers, and Lord Henley, were assembled there when I got down to it, and by way of easing my mind I saw Mr. Payne shake his head at it, seeming to say, You're a nasty one, anyhow-but here goes!" for he took his horse back 30 or 40 yards, and went at it with a will. He got over, so did Charles Payne, Lord Vivian, Mr. Villiers, Lord Henley, and one or two more, and away we went up the meadows over two more fences. The field was now really thin enough for the most fastidious, when the hounds turned, raced back, ran a few yards along the side of the brook, and eventually settling on their old line ran straight up to Ravensthorpe; leaving that on the left, reynard was headed, and got back to Buckby Folly in double quick time, where we were obliged to give him up. 1 was quite wrong in saying that we had no run to describe this month, for the pace and hunting throughout were very good, and had he not been headed, and continued his course on to Cottisbrooke, there would have been very few to have given the description.

This was about the last day before the frost came, and I think we have had no more to do in January. Excuse, therefore, this short letter, and "meliora spera." We have opened February well, with two good runs and a clipper-but I will not anticipate, as we may have another three weeks' frost, and then I shall be very glad of our last week's sport to help me out. Why do you not come down here, just to finish the season? You need not bring a very large stud, unless you have got to an unaccountable weight. Six good ones will do. Six will enable you very respectably to catch an occasional glimpse of Mr. Payne, as he goes over a fence; to get stuck in a double, as you attempt to handle your horse over a creeper after Mr. Villiers or Lord Vivian; to bury yourselfin a deep ditch, or break your back over a stiff gate, if you prefer the line Mr. Bevan takes; to swim in a brook, or stick in a bullfinch, in emulating Mr. Knightley, or Mr. Sturt, or Lord Henley, or any of our good men and true. Six will enable you to do this; while a rather fewer number (if you ride carefully, keep an eye to the weak places and gates, watch the turns of the hounds, and avoid galloping in heavy plough) will give you a chance of once or twice in the day getting alongside of your very affectionate friend, S.

Feb. 7th, 1848.