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quality of the Leger horses. On the faith of a trial with the Hero, Sting, from an extreme outsider, sprung to fourth in the odds. The aspect of the market on Monday night augured ill for the character of the great event under negotiation, and some of its principal agents. At midnight the Rooms were crowded, and I never saw a more anxious assembly, or one more absolutely delivered over to its own conceits. Betting was not languid-because all were on the qui vive the instant a mouth was opened to ask the price of anything. But betting there was not, save in a few solitary cases where men had commissions to execute. Any one, I believe in my conscience, could have driven any horse to any odds he pleased. An offer to lay 8 to 1 against Fancy Boy paralyzed his backers, and you heard people, with fathoms of faces, declare he was gone-flummoxed-dead, and hung up to dry. Mr. O'Brien laid Mr. Mytton £4,000 to £1,000 against Sir Tatton Sykes. I have no doubt a bona fide bet; and now what do I think of the investment? That brings us to the head and front of our inquiry. I have seen this great public "pot," and, so far as the eye goes, he is in good form. Beyond this, all is mystery. Scott is walking, and at the weight to ride; but otherwise, they say, very unfit. If he persists in his present purpose of being his own jockey, there is but one opinion, and that is that the race will probably be thrown away. John Scott's horses had not arrived this morning, so that Brocardo of course was not seen. His team are in force-but as yet the horse is dark. Dawson had his lot out" a house divided against itself." There were some twelve or fourteen of them-but everybody ran after Fancy Boy. They only walked, however, so that slight lines were left for the curious. Poynton was certainly not very lane. Free Lance is a nice goer, and so is not Romance-one can't conceive the policy of running this gaunt mare, except for the purpose of losing £25. Cranebrook is a strong sort; which Sting is not.

Having in this wise gossiped, and subsequently broken fast, somewhat late in the afternoon we betook ourself to the course. Its condition was perfect; so was most of its arrangements-always excepting the weighing-house, which was a little closet like a lady's dressing-room. The little men, in motley, all overlaid in the crush like the colours in a kaleidoscope, had the oddest effect in the world. The attendance was very considerable; and hard upon three o'clock the racing began with the Fitzwilliam Stakes, won by Red Robin-a very close shave with Wit'sEnd. The Cleveland Handicap Lady Wildair won, as she could ill avoid with Nat and 7st. 12lbs. on her. To this succeeded the Champagne, with seven starters, all placed. They took even money Planet won; but he did not, for Van Tromp beat him easily; at all events, his sides were untouched. The winner is almost too fine an animal for his year. Quoad Planet, a friend of mine had an idea, a little while since, of buying him; and, with that view, took Mavor, the well-known veterinarian of Bond-street, down to Goodwood-but returned without his errand or his horse. I understand his legs were not quite so flat as might have been desirable. This-at what it is worth-for the dabblers in next year's Derby. The Hero having vanquished an unworthy foe for the Queen's Guineas, the day's list was told out.

Wednesday, the anniversary of the St. Leger, and such an anniversary! Such a popular demonstration was never seen in these parts. Long before noon the town was inconveniently thronged: the thorough

fares, in fact, were all but impassable. And then the excitement, under a roasting temperature! It was an especial Providence that the whole multitude did not part with their senses simultaneously! In the rooms there was warm work too. It will be seen from the quotations how horses went up and down-nobody knew, or seemed to care why or wherefore. Thus they made Sting a great feature. I wonder did John Day give the Hero his breakfast before he brought the lawyer's nag to trial? So soon as it was known that Scott would ride, everybody declared nothing short of a miracle could save him from being hocussed before he got up. His friends, however, formed a chevaux-de-frize round him from the moment he set foot on the lawn till he left it in the saddle; and thus, most probably, the fate of the day was turned. Of the dozen that started, nothing was really in the race except the winner and Iago a horse that fully justified the opinion I have always expressed of him.

Now that all is over, mention must be made of the course adopted towards the public by Captain Pitt-the owner, for the nonce, at all events, of Sir Tatton. It was all that became a gentleman. He was fully aware of the schemes at work to make the horse and his rider— whoever that might be-safe, if the thing was to be done by human ingenuity or inhuman rascality. Had Scott not ridden, William Oates, his trainer, would have been put up-a young man whose conduct throughout the whole business was beyond all praise. He wrought as became one who serves his master-his domestic governor-and the public.

At starting they took 3 to 1 about Brocardo; the same about Sir Tatton; 11 to 2 about Sting; 7 to 1 about the Traverser; 8 to 1 about Fancy Boy; 10 to 1 about Iago; and nothing else under 20 to 1. It was a tremendously true-run race, from the desperate speed at which Tom Tulloch made play for his confederates. No doubt Scott rode his horse like a master of his art. He was all patience, so long as that virtue might serve him and his finish, when Iago rushed up to his quarters, was perfect. That he should ever put a thief into his mouth to steal away his brains! Sir Tatton Sykes beat Iago by half a length for this, one of the fastest Legers on record: the time being, I believe, accurately kept-three minutes sixteen seconds. The Selling Stakes was won by Lord Chesterfield's colt by Don John out of Gamelass, and the 300 sovereigns match by Gabbler, beating Chainbearer by half a length. The Corporation Plate Godfrey won; and Tom Tulloch walked over for the Foal Stakes.

Thursday gave to those who sought it another brilliant day's sport: for myself I was dead beat by the excitement of the preceding afternoon, and cultivated quiet among the partridges in the neighbourhood of Brodsworth. The racing everybody assured me was first-rate, the North of England Produce Stakes being walked over for by Kismet. Philip carried off the Innkeeper's Plate in a field of a baker's dozen; and Bingham the Municipal Stakes, beating Crossier by a neck, and two others. Now came the Great Yorkshire Handicap, with fourteen runners won by Cranebrook (they do say by dint of good riding); but I think also by a good animal. Iago, another good animal, secured the Three-Year-Old Stakes for his gallant owner-a snug little £1100. What useful things useful horses are!

Friday, now the Cup day, of course held the company till the finale. It was a goodly wind-up. The great event, indeed, was a small matter; for the Hero won the Cup as he might a saddle at a fair. Lord Strathmore bought Brocardo at a stiff figure to show for it; but a decent donkey wonld have looked as well in the race. Is this Hero another Eclipse, or what sort of a set were the five he beat into fits? The sport opened with "the squire," on his filly, Giselle, beating Blind Hookey and his master in a canter. Ennui, one of Mr. Mostyn's Bentinck bargains, won the Park Hill, beating seven fair competitors by a neck. For the Two-Year-Old Stakes they did not start Van Tromp; and Slander succumbed to Foreclosure; but Slander was hardly in her form. The Town Plate, in two heats, the Duke of Richmond (the quadruped) won; and Hesseltine receiving forfeit in a 500l. match from Mr. O'Brien, the meeting terminated. Lord Strathmore and Sir John Gerrard are the stewards for 1847-two progressive patrons of the noble art—as horseracing may be called, just as they designate fox-hunting the noble science.

THE HANDBOOK OF THE CHASE.

BY THE EDITOR.

(Continued from page 156.)

THE PYTCHLEY COUNTRY.

Why do almost all the modern writers on the chase speak of its glories in the past tense, and lament over the changes to which it has succeeded as natural heir? Progress is the spirit of life: would they have fox-hunting, which is the epic poetry of motion, the only thing that is to stand still? In alluding to the first artificial gorse covers got up for the service of this hunt, a sporting author of great practical skill, and an enthusiastic kennel huntsman, says disparagingly-" But a quick find and a sharp burst are all now required; and whether that is sport or not, I leave for others better qualified than myself to pronounce judgment upon." And why not a quick find? Must a fox be as coy as one's lady love? And why not a sharp burst? Now-a-days, twenty miles an hour rates as a donkey's canter. And why should not furze be cultivated far and wide? Doth not the proverb say-" When gorse is out of bloom, kissing is out of fashion ?" Here is a Medes and Persian authority, wherefore the land we live in ought to be one entire and perfect gorse garden. The times are changed, and with them as well are we ourselves altering, as the circumstances that surround us. 'Twas but the other day I was talking over the Quorn-its men, country, and hounds-with one who has had half a century's experience of that especial district of Diana. “When first I hunted Leicestershire," said tho hearty old sportsman-as hale as a youth in his teens, and still as fit to

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go as the best of them-" when first I hunted Leicestershire, not onehalf of the country was enclosed; and now there are more railways than brooks in it, with a station at Melton. Some folks growl and grumble at this; but depend upon it, it's not all loss. D'ye think that Meynell or Loraine Smith would have turned up their noses at a hack that should carry them from May Fair to Kirby Gate while they were getting through the morning paper? No, no; change is barter: there you give; here you take. We've not the worst of the bargain by a good deal.

I am not writing the annals of the Pytchley Hunt, or my office would include biographies of nearly all the most distinguished members of the chase since fox-hunting became one of our national sports. As I have had occasion to observe in speaking of Leicestershire, it has long disputed the palm of perfection, as a district having first-class local properties, with the Quorn country. It has furnished masters for that renowned hunt; and it has been subsequently adopted by them of preference. It is essentially the more rural of the two; and possessing, as it does, the most extensive woodlands of any of the midland countries, it is more favourable to hounds generally than any other. You can there begin with them as early as you please in the season, and end almost as late. "The New Forest hounds," Mr. Vyner observes in his Notitia Venatica, "which used to hunt out the first week in May, now generally close their campaign on or about the 20th of April; and I am not aware of any other hunt of the present day which prolongs the season beyond the end of that month, excepting the Pytchley, which remain at their woodland quarters at Brigstock until about the 6th or 7th of May, and sometimes even as late as the 12th." From the nature of the country, there being little or no arable land between the woods, and part of it including Rockingham Forest, no mischief can be done here at this season of the year any more than at Christmas, and there being plenty of foxes, their sport is always of the very first order. A great part of these woods belong to his Grace the Duke of Buccleugh, who is not only a master of hounds himself in the north, but a good friend to the cause. Nimrod, in alluding to them in one of his tours of a quarter of a century back, says they contained at that time avenues to the extent of seventy miles in various directions, and observes he need scarce remark that they are a treasure to a master of fox-hounds. Strangers who have passed the April month at Kettering, Mr. Vyner declares, have not been more delighted at the excellence of the runs than astonished, as they well might be, at the great destruction of foxes. Yet the increase is so great, and such excellent care is taken of them out of the season, that when hunting again commences plenty of game is found, and by the end of October they can generally count from twenty to twenty-five brace of noses on the door of the Brigstock kennel. We are, however, travelling somewhat fast, even for these fifty miles an hour times, and must therefore hark back for the nonce.

It was a great oversight which caused my not prefixing the following paragraph as a motto to this my Hand-book. It is better late than never, even to offer good counsel; and to that intent I set down the aphorism of one in every sense a fitting guide and philosopher for all of the same craft that shall come after him. "As a master of hounds I have many things to expect. I have a right to expect a strict preservation of foxes from every one. I have a right to expect old foxes, and

also a strict preservation of cubs; for without young foxes the stock cannot be kept up, and blank days will be the result. On the other hand, you have a right to expect from me the most polite attention in the field and out of the field: to expect a correct announcement of all the meets in fact, you have a right to expect me to hunt the country, not for my own convenience, but to the satisfaction and amusement of others." There is a golden rule of woodcraft! only let every master of hounds make it his maxim, and a beggarly account of empty covers will be a tale of the times when exclusiveness visited the hunting districts, as the rot has come upon the fold and the blight upon the harvest.

The oldest artificial gorse-cover in the Pytchley country, we are told, upon the authority of many of the oldest of Northamptonshire Nimrods, is one in the Yelvertoft-field. It has had many descendants, and no doubt will have many more. For this cause, no list of the Pytchley fixtures, or any other hunt, can be other than a contrivance on the sliding scale; while its temporary worth entitles it to a place in a compilation, the purpose of which is to furnish aid and convenience to those immediately in need of guides to the hunting-field. The subjoined chart of the Pytchley fixtures was obligingly furnished to me by Mr. Smith, when he was master of the hunt-an office he filled as much to his own credit as to the satisfaction of all the members. It is scarcely necessary to say the gentleman here spoken of is that thorough practical sportsman so well known as the author of the "Extracts from the Diary of a Huntsman.” During his occupation of the country, he introduced the practice of cubhunting in the afternoon-a habit of unquestionable personal convenience to those engaged in the pursuit. In one of those post-meridian chases, he ran a fox four hours, and killed at eight o'clock in the evening-a feat which may be the forerunner of similar clippers, when fashion shall recognise it as quite correct to hunt by gas-light. In the subjoined list Northampton is the centre point, and from it the distances are measured.

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These may be regarded as the principal meets: there are others, but not of similar account; some of them lie actually in the line of the North

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