So saying, we cantered briskly forward, and soon arrived at the Meet, a large plain at the foot of the hill on which the aforesaid gorse was situated, and which the hounds were then in the act of drawing. We lost no time in mounting, and on Old Yorkshireman's back I was soon among the cluster of red coats at one corner of the covert. Old Tom, the Huntsman, was in the centre of it, in an open part, sitting motionless on his horse, a grey (which I think the best color for a Huntsman's horse, as a hound sees it and gets to him so much quicker): two or three old hounds at this moment came out of the gorse, and, wagging their sterns, looked up into Old Tom's face, as much as to say, "No fox here, old boy; where to, next?" Tom seemed of the same opinion, and the gallant grey, obedient to the gentle pressure of the leg and turn of the wrist, moved slowly through the thinnest part of the gorse, occasionally lifting one leg rather higher than usual to keep his fine clean legs clear of the prickles, but never condescending to jump. One blast of Tom's horn, with his short “ Away, hounds, away!" brought them out of the covert and to his horse's side, when they moved off at the true hunting jog down the hill to the plantations. The plantations were long strips of covert, close to the park-wall of a neighbouring seat. On the outside they continued to where the wall turned off at right angles, and there ended; which being the opposite point to that where the hounds were thrown in, was that at which the fox usually broke. They had not been drawn for some time, and a fox was confidently expected. The hounds, obedient to Old Tom's "Loo-in," dashed into covert, shewing plainly by their eagerness that something was there. The second Whip was motionless and silent at the far end. Old Yorkshireman was straining at the tight rein, and trembling with eagerness, when a doubtful whimper made itself heard, sending the blood at an extra pace through everybody's veins who had any business there. "Have a care, Rookwood," cries Joe, the first Whip, making the echoes ring with the loud crack of his hunting-whip. His "have a care," however, was uncalled for, for old Challenger, having dashed to the spot, gave tongue immediately-Old Tom's " Hark, Challenger!" could be heard at St. Paul's-and to make assurance doubly sure, Rantipole, Cerberus, and Hector took it up. Cigars disappeared-horsemen pressed towards the end of the covert the third Whip holds up his hand for a minute, then turns like lightning, and his "Gone away!" resounds far and wide. Tom, cap in hand, gallops like mad to the place, lays the hounds on, and off they go along the park-wall, then down the hedge side—an instant's check-"Do hold hard, Gentlemen;" -he is through the hedge; Challenger hits it off on the other side— what a crash what a scent! Old Tom, on the grey, puts his horse steadily at the stile into the next field, and Yorkshireman, pulling like mad, follows him. A hundred others go at the fence, and no fewer than a dozen are down, as it is a rasper. On we go, however, four miles best pace, till we come to a check in a heavy bottom. A strip of osiers is at hand we try round it; and off we go again on the other side. Then comes the tug of war. The fox had now fixed upon his point, and was evidently making for woods, which were six miles as manner : straight as a die. The Field was thinning very fast; Yorkshireman had brushed through his last one or two fences in rather an unpleasant brook was straight in our line. Many, knowing the country, and not liking it on blown horses, had sloped off for a bridge, but some ten or twelve still stuck gallantly to the pack, who were going too fast to be "covered with a sheet," as the phrase is.-Indeed I think it impossible that hounds going the very best pace can run all close together. The brook looked full: four charged it abreast, of which three got over, and one in, who was seen no more during the run. The next two got over well, and on looking back I could see splash after splash, as almost every one who could get his horse to go at it got in. The Field was now reduced to six, and we had reached the woods. Short halt did the game animal make there, but just gave one minute's breathing time to the horses, and let in one or two of the bathers, of which my friend had been one, but came up here minus a skirt of his coat and a stirrup-leather, but determined to go on. We went away again from the other side of the wood with the Huntsman, one Whip, a farmer, a hard-riding Parson, and three of the Members of the Hunt, which, including your humble servant and his friend, made nine, out of a Field of nearly two hundred. "What a capital fox!" said every one. The horses one and all soon began to shew unequivocal symptoms of distress, and I saw one man get three falls in four fields-I think it was the Parson. The hounds began to tail, and in going over a double fence, Old Yorkshireman slipped back into the ditch. I, however, got him out, and, by nursing him, came up in time to see the finish, though we were very near losing him at the last moment, he having lain down in a ditch, and the hounds, dashing on into the next field, threw up their heads; but Old Tom, coming up steadily, spied him crawling along a little further down the ditch, and in two minutes had him torn up and eaten. Only five saw the end.Who-whoop! rang out over hill and dale. The horn sounded loudly, and ......... I awoke. The horn still rung in my ears, so that I was in hopes it was not "all a dream;" but the empty tumbler, red windowcurtains, fishing-rod, and fly-book, too plainly shewed I was the poor solitary angler; and on inquiry I found the cursed tin horn of the mail-cart had disturbed me from my dream of happiness. Liverpool, September 10, 1842. A LOVER OF ALL SPORTS. SURLY HALL. Engraved by H. BECKWITH from a Painting by W. SMITH. SURLY HALL is indebted for its notoriety from its being the resort of the Etonians, and the grand trysting-place on the anniversaries of their Regattas on the 4th of June," when George the Third was King," (still continued,) and on Election Saturday. The distance from the College is three miles, and as the stream runs very strong, it is a tightish pull for the youngsters. The present scene will stir up and bring to mind pleasurable recollections to many of our readers. Those far away from their native land will think of the little contentions and struggles in early life to gain port first, which was to decide a Sweepstakes or other Match; and we can fancy we hear them say when they near the goal, as the oar takes the last stroke, "welcome green peering poplars!" The aspirants perhaps then little thought, as they propelled their funnies, that in after-life they should be called on take the more serious and responsible helm of State, or lend a vigorous hand to man a jollyboat or command a seventy-four. It is equally inviting to the Sportsman, both from appearance and the many desirable places for angling. The River here is divided, and throws off a branch to supply a mill a mile and a half below. Near the point of the division many good fish lurk, and now and then some of those magnificent trout that are seldom met with in smaller streams reward the angler's toil. A lock has in various instances prevented ingress and progress to many a man's desires, and the fixing of one between Eton and Surly Hall has obstructed those pleasurable excursions by water which were wont to be taken before its formation. Eton College now pays annually a sum for the privilege of passing up the stream. No Etonian is allowed "to boat" until he can swim well-an excellent regulation, as it is a stimulus to learn that invigorating, manly, and useful exercise. Many people surmise that this place received its name from a previous occupier named Hall, he being a very surly fellow; but this is wrong, as the place was so named long before he was born. Surly Row is in the same vicinity, but why these places should bear such unsocial names we cannot decide. This, however, we do know, that the present Host, Mr. Ducket, is the very antipodes of surliness, being one of the most obliging, social, and best-natured men in existence. THE FOREST. PRINCE ALBERT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. "Whither the Scottish Monarchs came, That here in pasturing crowds resorted. The eager stag-hounds loudly bay, And bugles yell, and horses neigh, And bullets whiz, and fall the wounded. Then merry dance when sport was o'er, THE Forest-the far-famed Forest of Glenartney, so faithfully described in that beautiful poem The Lady of the Lake, has of late witnessed in fond reality a PRINCE within its sacred precincts, |