consequence of the herds of fallow deer, when S——, taking advantage of the opportunity, galloped directly up to the house, and rang the bell, long and loudly. A dozen varlets hurried to the summons, and stared to see the red coat, which they imagined to have been so effectually excluded. "Is the prince at home," asked the visitor bluntly? "No, sir, but the Baron Vonblomenose is." "Then please to tell the Baron I would wish to speak with him." The Baron came, with sundry bows and smiles, which were speedily cut short by S▬▬ bawling out, "Are you the Baron? Oh! well then, what I wanted to say is, that the prince must put up a d-d deal bigger fence than that if he would stop a Surrey man.”

Croydon, at the time I speak of, was the centre of all Surrey hunting, and the head quarters of the principal Surrey men. Near to it was the kennel of the good Lord Derby and his pack of staggers. Jolliffe and his pack were to be found in the neighbourhood of Merstram; the Surrey Fox-hounds were never very far off; and then, for those who liked a lesser sport," were there not the Sanderstead Harriers, and Old Meager?

66

Few originals in the hunting world have surpassed this last named worthy old man, and no one who ever saw him in the kennel or the field, will forget his love for his hounds, or his hatred of a hunting parson. Of the first of these feelings, Mrs. Meager also partook largely, always tending the sick hounds like her own children, and often helping her husband to feed them on their return after a long day. His hounds were small but compact, very strong and lasting, and excellent workers in the field. Meager's turn out was unique, with his old green coat, and broad-brimmed hat, and his whipper-in, such an exact copy of himself in dress and general appearance, that you never could distinguish them from one another, excepting by the large mother-of pearl button which the commanding officer wore by way of epaulette on his left shoulder. His voice was very deep and gruff, and if, in beating for a hare, his eye glanced on a jolly red phiz and a black coat on the same horse, his “ dog language" was broken into parentheses by his denunciations of the sporting clergy, somewhat after this fashion-" Yeh! dogs, yeh! gently, Rantipole !—there's a parson-mind there! have a care, Bluebell!-I hate a parson! Yoh! Yoh! What business has a parson out a huntin'.-Hold up Rarity-why don't he stop in his parish-Heigh you, Gadabout, there! and take care of the sick-steady dogs-or marry somebody-Hey in, Active-or bury somebody-or-Hey! hark to ChallengerForrard there-Forrard-Hah! wish I could ride over the d-d parson-get forrard there, dogs-Hugh-I hate a parson."

there

Croydon then was the rallying point of all, and although every one had, in that place, his own particular haunt, the principal muster of a

hunting-day was around Charley Morton, and "The old Derby Arms."

The hour of meeting, in those days, was a more healthy and less lazy one than now (at least with packs near town), and at about eight o'clock in the morning, hacks and buggies were wont to pour into the yard of the Old Derby Arms, each new comer announcing his arrival with a crack of his whip and a loud view holloa, and the ostler's bell keeping up a continual din.

Then came the pleasures of breakfast at a country inn, after a good ten miles gallop in the fresh morning air. The Croydon sausages were always celebrated, but had they not been so, they would have seemed super-excellent with such good hunger sauce. Then after breakfast came the busy preparation, the stroll through the stables, the critical examination of hunters and hacks-a sham fight with the monkey in the yard, and all those pleasant little etceteras which made the moments fly so quickly that you were quite surprised to learn that it was time to start for the meet at Smitham Bottom, or Banstead Down.

a better-hearted rider, Always merry and wise,

Now, one by one, the patrons of the "Old Derby Arms," passed slowly in review before the little bow-window, with real business-like looks. First almost invariably, (fearing lest he should hurry his nag), would come Charles Young; a better horse than his will not be in the field to day, but he will keep them a leetle too fat, Charley Morton and he were always quarrelling on that point, but our good-hearted friend did not seem to like putting them upon short commons, so that to my eye at least, his nag's coat was always somewhat too sleek. Fat or lean, however, as his horse may be or a merrier wag will not see hounds to day. and full of fun. Many a time in dirty weather, were his boots brought clean to Croydon by his ingenuity in galloping along the foot path, in defiance of printed boards denouncing heavy penalties against offenders; but if he came near any suspicious-looking individuals, who seemed inclined to quarrel or to cavil, down went the rein upon his horse's neck, and with his feet hanging out of the stirrups, and a cry of " Oh! stop my horse! stop my horse!" he invariably bundled his opponents into the high road, and kept the footpath to himself. Moreover he used to put the boldest and fiercest dogs to the rout, by making mysterious growlings in his hat, with many other drolleries, too numerous for mention.

Next after him, on a strong brown horse, comes a heavy weight, Driver, the Auctioneer, followed by a brother of the hammer, Mr. Tattersall, also a heavy weight, but a first-rank rider. That is Stubbs on the light chesnut horse, and with him Vann, (or little Vann as he is commonly called, wherefore I cannot say,) these are both first flight men. The dapper bit of scarlet in their rear, is occupied by Chilton,

a very great authority on that slippery subject, the ice at home there, than here.

He is more

But who is this rattling along the lane? how sharply he turns the corner-a shaver-and a tandem too-why, it is Bridges, the man who always boasts that he can upset his tandem without hurt to any person in it. He proved his words, successfully, on many occasions, but, poor fellow, he upset himself once too often on Burford Bridge, and pitching head foremost on the stone parapet, was killed upon the spot.

Before arriving at the meet, this party was invariably joined by many others from other parts of the county, amongst whom Sir Francis Head was generally to be found, and I well remember the excitement occasioned by his appearing in the field on a clipped horse, then quite a novelty. Whether Sir Francis was the first who adopted this now common practice I cannot say; but he was the first man who rode a clipped horse in the Surrey country.

Last, but not least, in this my little sketch of bygone scenes and manners, comes mine host of the Derby Arms, Charley Morton himself; a most peculiar character in every way, trotting along on a heavy bay hunter, or elseon "Wheeler's old one-eyed horse," (a nag as well known to the frequenters of the Derby Arms as Charley himself), adorned with a pair of spare stirrup-leathers round his neck. He invariably brought up the rear of all the field, arriving just in time to officiate at the turn-out, which he always did with great skill. Then, however long might be the run, however fast the pace, there was Charley at the end of it, although throughout the day nobody every saw anything of him.

"The take," however was Charley's glory, and here he was in his true element. Like Kathleen's cow to Kathleen, was the deer to Charley though savage to others, 'twas gentle to him!" With a long thonged whip and a rope, he would close on the hunted beast, and after some minutes of scuffling, generally came forth victorious. On one occasion, however, Master" John Doe" or "Richard Roe," was too strong for him, and having taken refuge in an outbuilding, Charley was attacked immediately on entering, and forthwith pitched without ceremony into the unsavory embraces of an open cess-pool.

On another occasion, the deer took refuge in the wheel sluice of the mills near Beddington corner, and Charley having volunteered to bring him out, dived in after him, when some wicked wags immediately hurried into the mill, and set the wheel going, and the scramble which ensued between the stag and the hunter, the taker and the takee, was indeed a sight to see. Charley had “caught a tartar.”

These deer are not to be played with when they take a savage fit.