vale that belts on one side, like a garment of beauty, the nakedness of the county town, Lewes, embedded beneath the sheltering South Downs. The hounds went at it with more dash than is the wont of their order; and the exceeding good consequence was the immediate departure of General Pug from an untenable position; and after a small ring, finding it impossible to profit by the wise council of his Sussex brethren, never to quit branch scenery, (a wise resolution arranged in their annual conclave at Stanmer Park, where their defensive system is fully developed against their redoutable Ringmer foes,) and feeling that Muster George Press was resolute to deserve some title to his formidable name, by going to work with his hounds cheerily, and with some spark of spirit, he burst gallantly away over the fine Broyle country, without regarding copse or covert, straight to the ivy-mantled towers of Firle. The pace was slowish, but the hounds worked well up to their fox, hitting him offunassisted, forcing him through the strong woods of Firle, running in on him in view, and chorussing his death note, after a continued run of four hours, beneath the lofty downy rampart which shelters the fine seats of Lord Gage and General Trevor.

It is very generally admitted that the country of the East Sus sex is perhaps the very worst in all England, being so completely studded with large and close lying coverts; and therefore it will probably be conceded that the Hunt have done their work with sufficient credit, in having killed in the season twenty-eight and a half brace of foxes, and

have had but five blanks. No foxes have been bought, nor any bagmen turned out (as hath been implied by a certain worthy Correspondent of yours): but with all this fair feature, I shall make bold to say there has been no sport; for the greater part of the Pug gentry have settled their accounts with their Ringmer opponents, in the depth and solitude of some wood, or underneath the prickly covering of gorse.

And now, with the best wishes for his success in another season, I shall take leave of Mr. Craven with an anecdote related to me the other day by a brother sportsman of my boyish days, touching a certain Master of Hounds in a certain county endeared to us by early recollections; and, let me say it, one to which I ever look back with feelings of fond regret. It was there I imbibed my love for the chase; it was there, under a Master not surpassed by any in England, I learnt all I now know of the glorious sport. I allude to Charlev Newman, and I record the days when, as NEMO hath truly observed, he performed the Herculean task of hunting the Thurlow and Coggeshall country; and he performed it not only well, but far better than ever it has since been done, or will be. Excusing

this digression, I will to my anecdote, and perhaps Mr. Craven will find its application of use in his wretched wooded country.

There was a fixture of Charley Newman's, called Shadow Bush, in the Heddingham country, well known in the days of Old Panton and thelate Sir Wm. Rowley, of such extent and so impervious that it was literally stuffed with foxes, nor could they ever be

made to fly. Whenever, therefore, Shadow Bush was the fixture, no one would go. "By G-d!" said Charley Newman, "but I will yet make Shadow Bush the best meet we have: the foxes are all stubbers; and if we can but give them one good fright they will ever after fly." He set to work with Meshic and Abraham, and in the very heart of this great wood, he halloo'd, and rode, and cheered, and swore, and tore off all his clothes, and thorned his horse, and played the devil with his men; but "by G-d!" he killed his fox in the very centre of it, and held him up as a sign of the times, and the introduction of a change in the dynasty, on a fine old gnarled oak, which lorded it over its branching brethren. The genus vulpicis beheld and trembled; they felt the potent hand of the destroyer; and from that day forth Shadow Bush became celebrated for the foxes flying at once, and running stouter than any others in that renowned Hunt. By the same system, Mr. Craven, in Sussex, with some more rapidity in your attacks, and we shall hear of some famous things, I think, over your Broyle country.

I cannot conclude this better than by forwarding you an account of the Spring Hunt Races at Lewes, which came off on Monday the 8th of April, as followeth :

The Farmers' Stakes, being a Silver Bowl, with a scattering therein of 10 sovs. liberally awarded to the cultivating gentry by Mr. Craven as a peace offering on the part of the race vulpecidan, and, through the exer

tions of the same Gentleman on the course, increased by an additional 30 sovs., was run off in three heats-the distance two miles and a quarter; weights, four-year-olds, 11st. 4lb.; five, 12st.; six and aged, 12st. 4lb.; horses not thorough-bred; with twenty-five subscribers. Twelve appeared at the post with their jocks all arrayed in gay panoply, shewing off their comely forms and featly prancing steeds to the crowd of beauty (plebeian as patrician) who studded the Lewes Downs in all the pride of surpassing and conquering loveliness, amidst the unclouded glories of a bursting spring daysuch a morn as our great Poet hath immortalized in his all-enduring verse—

"But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree.

Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide fields re

vive

With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring

Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,

With all her reckless birds upon the wing,

I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring."

Childe Harold, Canto III.

Here, too, as on most occasions, I was forcibly impressed with the general superiority of they of the farm, the tea, the ribbon, and pin-sticking line over the quality people: the foot and ancle advantageously displayed on the verdant down, the mantling colour and bloom of health, the rounded proportionate form, and the beaming eye, shewed all in favour of the ruralists.

At a quarter before one o'clock the lot of goodly cocktails went away at a slashing pace, led by a

fast hard-pulling grey mare, ridden by a very plump-cheeked fat-looking man in a sky-blue jacket, who bumped up and down wondrously, making all sorts of amusing contortuous faces: he kept the lead a long way, but it was clear much against his will; and at the turn of the posts -a very awkward turn, too-the grey mare had run herself out, and fell off, yielding the lead to a smart little bay mare, "Rhoda," the property of Mr. Wyat, who won the heat, beating a black gelding of Mr. Saxby's, "The Purser by Little John," by half a neck; which beating arose from The Purser being about a minute too late. There is no doubt if Muster Brackenbury had called on his horse but a little sooner, he would have won the heat; yet, being on a young one, of whom he knew nothing, perhaps in gene ral cases he did wisely in nursing him something overmuch.

The second heat was won by The Purser beating Vestris, a chesnut mare by Cannon Ball-. rare-shaped one of Mr. Stamford's-only by a head; Rhoda close up, but lame.

The third heat was likewise won by The Purser beating Vestris rather easy, owing, I opine, greatly to a complaint that mares are subject to at this season of the year, becoming somewhat amorously inclined.

The second affair-a race al ways exciting particular interest -was for the Hunters-horses that had been regularly hunted with Colonel G. Wyndham and the East Sussex-12st. each, with nine subscribers at five sovs., and 201. given by the town and vicinity of Lewes. A great deal of

vain speculation was hazarded from the performance of the va rious horses in the field; but such usually is a very deceitful judgment, since it is well known that across country a stout heart and a skilful hand will put an inferior horse in the front rank; but on a race course it must be absolute speed, and the de saltibus is of no avail. On stripping it was evident that Sir William Ball's bay horse Scud, by Friar Bacon, had it all his own way, so far as condition could do it for him-and we know pretty well how far that goes.

Then, if we were to judge by shape for promise of stoutness and running on, Mr. Craven had a right to win with his splendid and perfect shaped hunter (a reminiscence of the decaying Old English School), by Sir Harry Dimsdale. Then again, we might expect much from Mr. Elman's bay horse Merryman, by Robin Hood out of the dam of Agnew, who won the Farming Stakes last year. There was also Leporello, by Spring. Gun; Mungo; Maria by Octavus; and a slashing four-yearold, North Star by Robin-Hood, quite a dark horse, whom no one knew but the owner, and who, I believe, obtained all his tickets on the Downs: and I had almost forgot to mention a very small horse, not more than fifteen hands high, Carlo Dolce, a bay, by Woodman, This last is the horse I alluded to in my February communication, wherein I spoke of a very little one as a wonderful performer across a bad country. The poor little fellow was everything but ripe in his condition -much too low, with a staring coat, a bad sign of the internals,

and scarcely bespeaking a promise of triumph. The distance to be run was two miles and a half, turning round the three posts. At the word "go," away went the Octave mare, leading at a very racing pace, unwillingly and closely followed by Scud, of the Father Longshank breed, with a jockey of id genus omne. By the bye, I ought to mention that it was supposed no man could hold Scud; and his jockey as sured me he trained himself regularly with dumb bells to strengthen his arms, but it appeared without success, for Scud seemed not to respect the additional dumb bell muscle. The lot, with their leader Scud, rated it away at a terrible pace till they came to the turn of the posts, where six of them made a shoot as if they intended to take their departure for the village of Farmer, about a mile below the hill, while Muster Brackenbury on Chance (Mr. Craven's horse) swept round the postesses, and the little horse Carlo Dolce stole round close at his heels. These two then had it all their own way until the run in, when North Star darted past like the shooting of his nomenclature, leaving Mr. Craven's "Chance" and the honest little "Carlo Dolce" to arrange the unnecessary struggle as well as they might. North Star won the heat very easily, ridden by Mr. Johnson of Lewes. Chance was second, jockeyed by Muster Brackenbury, and Carlo Dolce a good third: the remainder quite tailed off.

The second heat was won in the same extraordinary style by North Star, laying behind all the way nearly a distance, and bound

ing past his horses meteor-like, and swift at the turn in. The lengthy jockey, Mr. Bethune, on the good long-shanked horse Scud, made a good fight, running up a good second to North Star-in my humble opinion a Cocktail of formidable powers to the best in England; Chance third, Carlo Dolce saving his dis

tance.

After the race Sir William Ball challenged North Star to prove his qualification, suspicion, strongly corroborated by his running, hinting that he was thoroughbred, and therefore an impostor, winning under false colours. It was referred to the Stewards, who called upon the owner to substantiate the breeding of his horse, allowing him three weeks to produce his proofs: in the mean time the Stakes are withholden. This appears to me a very hard case. North Star, the property of Dr. Skinner, is got by Robin Hood, a thoroughbred horse, out of a very famous mare that was, in the glorious days of unbounded smuggling, the right arm of a noted old weather-beaten smuggler deceased. This hero of the contraband probably bought something that could go the pace with the tubs, without fashing his head how she was descended. He may have got her at Tattersall's or Aldridge's, or any where. Now, I should be glad to put it to any sensible person, how is it within the power of possibility for any man to produce the pedigree of such a mare? It cannot be done; and therefore it resolves itself thus-that if a Gentleman purchase a horse at a fair or of a dealer, he buys him, perhaps,

without troubling himself about his blood. He finds him a rating going horse, hunts him and takes his tickets, trains him and wins the Hunters' Stakes. Then comes Mr. Quibble, and says, "Now, Sir, you must prove him not to be thorough-bred." How can he do so? The people he bought him from may be dead; may have left the country; or in laying his hand on them, he must travel half over England, at a pretty considerable expense. It bears absurdity on the face of it: and I am assured that every sporting man will coincide with me, that the onus probandi should lay with the challenging party......they reap the benefit, let them bear the trouble. I should fancy the decision of the Stewards will be favorable to Dr. Skinner; but at the same time, if this should meet

the eyes of OBSERVATOR, whose racing descriptions are so racy and well done, and who must well understand his subject, or any other of your numerous readers versant in turf matters, I should be glad if they would enlighten us on this point. Some decided rule should be applicable; for it does seem most unjust to call upon the owner to prove the pedigree of a horse which it is quite impossible he can do. Sir William Ball's horse cantered over alone, thereby establishing his title to the stake in the event of North Star being disqualified.

The third race was for the Pic Nic Cup, given by the Pic Nic Society of Lewes, for horses beaten in the Farmers' Stakesheats, one mile and a half. Six horses came to the post, and it

was won in two closely contested heats by a bay mare-Election, by Young Election-named by Mr. King, and ridden very steadily by Mr. Thomas, beating Robin Adair by Robin Hood, and Mr. Elman's grey mare Duvernay.

Thus were concluded the Lewes Spring Hunt races, which I hope will, as they really deserve, be well patronised. These sort of meetings are of the greatest utility in every Hunt. They hold out encouragement to the farmers to breed a good style of horse-put these ruralists into good humour

tend to a good understanding and cordial feeling among the gentry and tenantry-and, let me say, more than anything promote the preservation of foxes.

The races were well contested, and appeared to diffuse general satisfaction and hilarity. There was an Ordinary, which I regret to say was a failure from the absenteeism of the county gentlemen -those Sussex Squires who I have had occasion to notice before: but if they be alive to their own influence and interests, I suspect they would lose nothing by an occasional association with the bold yeomen of the land. For myself, I never met with a more cordial greeting or kindlier reception than I did from the farming folk at the Ordinary dinner.-The Race Ball was very numerously thronged, and there (with the exception of two peerless beauties) the fine rural girls bore the belle. May Sussex become as famed for its breed of horses, as it is for the beauty of its women! is the wish of JAVELIN.

April 12, 1832.