OLD OULTON LOWE. A favourite Cheshire Hunting Song. Bad luck to the country! the clock had struck two- Away, like a whirlwind, toward Calveley-hall- The Wellington maret, when she started so fast, 'Twas a sight for us all, worth a million, I swear! How Delamere || went, it were useless to tell; To say he was out, is to say he went well: A rider so skilful ne'er buckled on spur, To rule a rash horse, or to make a screw stir. The odds are in fighting, that Britain § beats France ¶; Cheer'd on by the Maiden ††, who rides like a man, He screeched with delight, as he wiped his hot brow- *Sir Philip Egerton's cover. + Major Tomkinson's mare which died two days after the run. The Rev. James Tomkinson, the Squire of Dorfold-hall. § Mr. Britain, of Chester. ** Ireland Blackburn of Hale. NO. LVII.-VOL. X. || Lord Delamere. ¶ France of Bostock-hall. ++ Joe Maiden the huntsman. Y In the pride of his heart, then, the Manager* cried, ،، Come along, little Rowley t, boy! why don't you ride ? " As he gave her the go-by on bonny brown Bess! The Baron‡ from Hanover holloa'd “ whoo-hoop," Oh! where 'mid the many found wanting in speed, The Cestrian chestnut § show'd symptoms of blood; ++ Two gentlemen met, both unhors'd, in a lane, sir; but pray, As a London coal-heaver might pick up a peer, I advocate "movement," when shown in a horse, Sir Harry Mainwaring. + Rowland Warburton, the Author. Baron Hompesch of the 16th Light Dragoons, who was severely wounded by a lion in the East Indies. || Mr. Hammond of Wistaston. f Sir Philip Egerton's horse. f Charley Ford's horse. ** Mr. Tomkinson's horse, of Davenham, pronounced Daneham. ++ Two gentlemen from Chester, who walked to Sandaway Head, and took a postchaise to Chester, their horses being afterwards caught and put up at Calveley-hall. Letters from the North. By Mr. JORROCKS. No. I. THE SEDGEFIELD COUNTRY, HARDWICKE CLUB, AND [SUCH of our readers as take an interest in the movements of Mr. Jorrocks, will regret to learn that that distinguished sporting citizen has had a renewal of his attack of indisgestion, which last winter drove him to Cheltenham, but for which the celebrated waters of Dinsdale, on the banks of the Tees in the North of England, were this year recommended; and we are happy to say that his bibations have been attended with the most satisfactory results, the old grocer (as the following letter will show) being again as stout on his legs as ever, and partaking of the pleasures of the chase, apparently with great satisfaction to himself. His old crony James Green, already well known to our readers, is the person he selects to inflict his correspondence upon, and Mr. Green, with that consideration that so peculiarly characterizes him, has handed the following letter to us, with an intimation that the continuation of the correspondence will be equally at our service. We have therefore only to add, that we give it "verbatim et literatim," and to beg that such of our readers as take no interest in Mr. Jorrocks, or his movements, will refrain from venturing on a perusal of it, forewarned as they are by us that it is couched in the style of elegance and grammatical purity that distinguishes all that great sportsman's effusions. It will be seen that Mr. Jorrocks falls into the common cockney error of considering every place north of Yorkshire in Scotland, which led to the disappointment he experienced on finding that Mr. Ralph Lambton and his men were not dressed in "kilts and philibegs."-Editor N.S.M.] Sedgefield, near Rushyford, MY DEAR JAMES, You will be rejoiced to hear that I am nearly rewived, the hair and water of Scotland having worked wonders on my constitution; I feel, as my friend Mr. Nimrod said in one of his elegant epistles to the Corinthians, as though I had "laid full fifty years aside, and was again a boy." Indeed, I think I may safely say I am as well as ever I was, for I can eat and drink and sleep and ride, and wot more can a man of fifty-six years of age expect to do? Having now told you about myself, I shall give you some information respecting Scotland, at least so much of it as I have seen, which as yet, is not werry much. Having only got with me the map of Europe (which is pasted in the top of my portmanteau) and one of " twenty miles round London," I can't exactly tell you where to put your finger on the place where I now am, but it is just across the borders, and from Dinsdale, where I stayed to drink the waters, I could see into England, the river being the only separation between the two kingdoms. It is now three weeks yesterday since I left Dinsdale and removed to this place, which is farther in the interior, and I have thought of going still farther north yet. But to tell you about this place. When I first heard of Sedgefield, I thought it would be a werry fine place for duck-shooting, more particularly as they said it was near Rushyford, but a young gentleman who diwided the hotel at Dinsdale with me, each man having twenty beds at his own disposal, informed me that there was a grand hunt held there twice a year by the greatest sportsman in all Scotland, and that it was well worth my while going any distance to see it. I told him that I belonged to the best hunt in all England-the Surrey-and couldn't fancy nothing better; whereupon he laughed, and said "that was the hunt Mr. Jorrocks belonged to." "You're right, sir," replied I," and wot's more to the purpose, I'm Mr. Jorrocks himself;" whereupon he haltered his tone, and acknowledged it was a werry capital hunt, but adwised me by all things to see Mr. Lambton's. This young gentleman (who I think was an Englishman) used to turn out werry often himself, and wot with seeing him every now and then in his pink and leathers, and gaining strength as I was then doing, I began to think a little hunting would do me no harm, on the contrary a great deal of good, so I cast about in search of an orse, and at last lit upon a reglar clipper, for which I gave 1507. (minus the 0), and having got my pink and boots from London, and hired as a groom a young "navigator" (as they call them, because they work on dry land) that I found working at a railway, I started one afternoon for Sedgefield, with the determination of seeing all that was to be seen, and of making a fair and impartial report to the Southerns, "nothing extenuating and nothing setting down in malice." I confess, as I had approached the town with the recollection of Old Croydon in its by-gone days of prosperity, its neat brick houses with green window-shutters, and parrots and cock-a-toos outside, that holloa to the hunters as they ride by, and the swinging signs that stretch across the street, and all the bustle and business occasioned by the long and short stages in and out of London, flitting in my memory, I was wondrously disappointed on finding myself in a straggling deserted-looking willage, with a large church in the centre, and none but poor small brick or white-washed red-tiled houses, and here and there a humble public, as different from our London inns as brown Barbadoes differs from best lump sugar, and without even an oyster-seller or orange-merchant to |