"This trial serves alike for you and me ;

"We've eyes and ears, but tongueless let us be.
"Come, Mr. Green, return with me to town;
"Permit me, at your door, to set you down."
The curricle drew up; Green took his seat;
And only wish'd it was St. James's-street.
"Now," said Capot, "it is a thing of course,
"For half your worth that you will back your horse:
"I'll do no less." "Sir," answer'd Green-"a man
"Of slender means-I'll venture all I can.

My father long successful was in trade;
"A tardy industry his fortune made,
"But years were wasted in a life so slow;
"By a far shorter road his son shall go."
He kept his promise; ran a rapid race:
The road to ruin took at railway pace;

Wager'd with all: back'd Muff, through thick and thin,
Against the field, and most 'gainst Saladin.

The day that intervened ere the event,

One faithful heart Fate to his rescue sent;

Steady, his father's oldest friend, who knew
The wiles and stratagems of all the crew,
Sought out the doom'd one, and, with honest zeal,
Thus spoke a passionate and last appeal:
"Green, you are sold; but heed me well, and yet
"You may be saved; forthwith hedge every bet;
"Your horse is 'safe,'* safe as if he were dead,
"And laid beneath the turf whereon he'll tread.
"Rush not upon destruction; ere too late,
"Be warn'd by me, and you escape your fate.
“The net is drawn around you: well I know
"They menace who but rarely miss their blow."

"THE FINISH."

THIS Companion of "The Find," which embellished our last number, is also from a painting by Herring, and engraved by Hall. a continuation of the series which, we stated last month, we should be enabled to give, after some of the best of Mr. Herring's productions, in the possession of Sir Benjamin Smith, to whose courtesy we are indebted for permission to engrave them.

By making a horse safe, is signified that a drug has been administered to him of a stupifying nature-not strong enough to kill, but sufficient to paralyse his powers for the particular race.

THE SPORTING LIFE OF ENGLAND.

GENERAL WYNDHAM'S HUNT.

BY J. W. CARLETON, ESQ.

"The Sporting Life of England!
The Charter of the Esle!
Perish the traitor, heart and hand,
That would, with dastard wile,
Sow discord, jealousy, or strife,
Among the gallant band

Who share and shield our Sporting Life.
The Charter of the land."

OLD SONG.

Ir was my purpose to have given a notice of the élite of the Royal Hunt in my paper for the present month, but circumstances have induced me to postpone that design. Articles of this description derive far less interest from a lucidus ordo than from their freshness. It should be an especial maxim with the sporting writer, to "let bygones be bygones," and make his page, as it were, a panorama of the events of the day. Mackerel thirty-one days after date are fragrant as violets, compared with details of fox-hunts that came off when George the Third was king. The reader, in his courtesy, will therefore permit me, in the April number of the REVIEW, to relate with what achievements each distinguished member of the Royal Hunt crowned the merry month of March; and, in the present instance, allow me to lay before him some reminiscences of a sporting reunion in Sussex, whereof, during the past month, "pars parva fui."

A gentleman who wrote sentiment towards the end of the last century, says "I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and find all barren;" so far from participating in such compassion, I think a fellow who could pass from Hyde Park to Whitechapel, without feeling he was journeying through a social Tempé, should be sent to take the air for a month upon a treadmill. "Modern times produce nothing striking, either in character or incident," was an observation lately addressed to me, in one of the Southampton Railway carriages. As commentaries upon it, the two following circumstances will bear narration. Between Kingston and Woking we passed a field where a race was in the act of being decided. The run in was parallel with the line of rail; and the coursers, a pair of well-bred hunters, entered it, and set to for the finish as we came abreast of them. The reader has been in a vessel under strong way, when a boat was cast off that was towing astern? He will then be able to form an idea of the position maintained between his humble servant, sitting at his ease, gleaning a morning paper, and two jockeys, contesting for dear life the last hundred yards of their struggle. . . Soon after reaching my journey's end, I called upon a very pretty Scotchwoman-the wife of a commander of

one of the Oriental mail steamers that sail from Southampton to Alexandria. Our conversation turned upon her husband's occupation. "On his last voyage," said my fair informant, "among various articles of freight, he took out a couple of omnibuses intended to ply in the Desert." Now, may I ask, is there anything particularly common-place about these two facts? I never hear a man talking of time hanging heavily on his hands, or a want of matter to occupy and interest him, without mentally consigning him, with all the energy of my heart, to a course of oakum and water-gruel.

To stand, on a forenoon of February, with a good cigar in his cheek, waiting the arrival of the drag that is to convey him to a home of hospitality, and hounds that meet four times a week (while the clouds are pouring a libation as fatal to Jack Frost as midsummer-day), is by no means the least enviable dispensation that falls to the lot of a foxhunter. Such was my case as, on Tuesday, the 8th ult., I watched the coming of the Chichester coach from the steps of the White Horse Cellar. People have lately found out that steam-coaching is a "perfect monster," without one blemish from its snout to its tail. "Observe the punctu

ality of arrival and departure by railway," cries Newfangle, “never a moment before or after time." "When shall we reach Petworth, Falkner?" said I, as we got upon the Macadam, opposite Coventry House. "At twenty minutes past four, sir," was the reply; and we did, to the instant. There, at the door of the Half Moon, stood General Wyndham's "break," waiting to convey my companion and self to Sladeland. An awful tranquillity pervaded the hostel-some such as entombed it three years before, when I spent four-and-twenty hours there, that could compare with nothing but the latter days of Pompeii. "Hic secura quies," I mused; but did not finish the line, as there arose a certain episode of brandy and water before my memory that destroyed its application.

We reached Sladeland just in time to greet the General on his arrival, who that day returned from town, after an absence of two months in the middle of the hunting season. Those who know him, and his devotion to fox-hunting, will have no difficulty in solving this apparent enigma, -there were the interests of one who was in difficulty and distress, to be served by his presence in London. The snow on the preceding day having kept the hounds at home, they were out, and had not returned when we arrived. We strolled, however, into the kennel to look at the puppies that had come in, and there were five or six couples that promised well. One-the pick of the basket, certainly-was fatally lamed in the stifle a few days before she was sent up from walk. The bitch pack was also shown to me-but not in the form it exhibited on my last visit. The reason was quickly avowed, and seems a more formidable mischief, as regards the chase, than any yet felt from the effects of railways. The feeder said they found it almost impossible to get flesh; and that they had actually been without a morsel for the previous two or three weeks; little wonder hounds, hunting such a country as the woodlands of Sussex, should look below the mark, under such circumstances.

On Wednesday, the 9th ult., the fixture was at the kennels; and at half-past ten a very sporting-looking field mustered on the lawn opposite the south front of Sladeland House. These lawn meets are gala affairs; and upon this occasion, the sun, with a very commendable con