As to all his points, and to bring me his scalp for the kennel door. chance would have it, they found our old opponent in the cover of his use, on that day, with a good holding scent. George soon became at no loss for the points that the fox would make; all errors were rectified without delay, the usual line run over, the river crossed at the same place, and the Twin and Clapton covers tried for a substitute. George Carter was in luck-he got up in his stirrups, and thought it safe to bring me home the scalp of the fox concerning whom we had so often consulted. The covers got too hot to hold the beaten fox, and, as a last resource, he sought a short drain, close to a farm-yard, and went to ground almost in view of the hounds. George rubbed his hands delighted-dismounted, and calling the hounds around him, prepared for blood. Some of the gentlemen who were out, seeing the mischief on which George was bent, murmured some ill-timed and incoherent expressions of shame, too forgetful, as gentlemen often are, when their fun is over, that there are twenty couples of hounds who richly deserve to find their unceasing and beautiful exertions crowned with success. George, not being either so hard-hearted or imperious on these occasions as his master, committed a fault in not turning a deaf ear to all but my injunctions to kill a fox; and to meet the wishes of the spokesmen, instead of letting the hounds draw their own fox, he drew back some thirty yards from the mouth of the drain, and permitted the victim, when well within his reach, once more to run for his life. As I have said before, the farm-yard was at hand, and in that farm-yard, a large flock of sheep. The fox bolted in view, but had not run ten yards before he jumped into the farm-yard, plunged under the bellies of the sheep, who, trying to follow the fox, and to avoid the hounds, wedged up the whole side of the yard, and shut the fox completely from further view. He lost no time in availing himself of circumstances. Men holloaed, people rode wild, the gate of the yard gave way, and helter-skelter went the sheep and hounds, over each other, down the field, and, to the great disappointment of George Carter, that fox escaped again. We found him, however, in the course of time, on the Cranfield side, once more, when the river was in flood, and when I had recovered from my indisposition. He came the usual line, found the flood at Clapham Turnpike-a field wide of the bed of the river; turned to the left for Stevington; looked as if he was going for Pictshill Gorse; but, pointing for Pavenham, the hounds forced him into the floods, then several meadows broad, and drowned him. They did not break him up, he was carried away by the waters, and afterwards found at, or near, the Oakley Mill, upon the subsiding of the flood. It seemed as if fate had determined that hounds should never completely triumph over this fox, when triumph seemed a certainty; making good, too, the old huntsman's adage, "that a fox must never be considered dead, so long as his intestines stick together." (To be continued.) "ELEGANT EXTRACTS," FROM THE OLD "SPORTING MAGAZINE." "If you are a buffoon, brother," replied the Duenna, "keep your jokes for some place where they may make a better figure." DON QUIXOTE. MORE than three years since we took occasion to allude to the ample room for improvement that existed in the sporting periodical literature of this country. We also stated that our humble efforts should be directed to bring about so desirable a consummation. While we leave others to pronounce upon the effects, it may be permitted us to speak of the agents we adopted. The pages of the SPORTING REVIEW have conveyed to its readers the practical experience of men whose position and connexion with our Rural Sports are guarantees for the sterling character of their contributions. Instead of a service of embellishments "signifying nothing," we sought to turn our illustrations to a double account, and, to that end, commenced the series of Maps of Hunting Countries, now in progress through this work. After we had carried out the plan for a year, it was taken up by the managers of the "Old Sporting Magazine." Their right so to do no one can impugn; but as the list of English Hunting Countries is a tolerably extensive one, we certainly saw reason to question the taste that induced them to begin their set with the Quorn, the Belvoir, and the Cottesmore, all of which had already been given by us. They might have "cut and carried off the birch," as a well-known Lord Chancellor once observed, "but it was really too bad to steal my brooms ready made." In a recent number, we ventured a remonstrance in a similar spirit, which has exposed us to the following castigation at the hands of the editor of that periodical. "Two months ago we were taken to task somewhat strangely by the SPORTING REVIEW, for publishing Maps of Hunting Countries, that its editor conceived he had exhausted in their utility to the public, by having given them, a year ago, in his own work. . . . . We will dispose of the REVIEW's claim to priority in these publications of the Hunting Fixtures, by referring its editor to the "Sporting Magazine," in which he will find INDICES to the Meets of the Cheshire, Albrighton, and, we believe, Lord Segrave's Hunt, at a much earlier date than the appearance of any MAPS in the REVIEW, and in such a form of letter-press, that his plea of being first in the field is reduced to "words, mere words." To say nothing of its grammatical construction, in the matter of logic, this passage would be unique, but for its resemblance to that of the gentleman who, being asked if he understood German, answered that he did not, but that he had a brother who played upon the German flute. If these "letter-press" INDICES were as good as our Maps, seeing that they were infinitely less costly, why did they not abide by them? And apropos of letter-press, oh! ancient "Sporting Magazine," having disposed of your logic, we have a word or two to say about your letters. Whatever licence may be claimed for such papers as find their way into our journals and magazines, from the information or interest that attaches to the matter they contain, the literary and reviewing departments are always supposed to be conducted by scholars and gentlemen. The leading article in the two last numbers of the old "Sporting Magazine," that most especially written for its readers' learning, was the "REVIEW OF THE RACING SEASON, 1841;" a few of its principal incidents are thus detailed. "For the OAKS there was a large start (twenty-two in number), the largest ever known, and was won by the Most Noble the Marquis of Westminster, cleverly, with Ghuznee. "Among the most extraordinary results of the race (the St. Leger) was the circumstance of the Marquis of Westminster's proceeding, after a career of almost unexampled success in the hands of that emperor of trainers, Mr. Scott-who had achieved more victories for his Lordship, than the most fastidious and avaricious could ever desire-yet removed his stud to private hands, where, no doubt, every attention will be paid and devoted to the interest of their engagements. "The Squire, the Yorkshire fancy, whose public performance told he could not have lost it (the Cesarewitch), was stopped, or made safe, by some nefarious transaction, by the administration of morphine, or some deleterious drug, which incapacitated that game animal from almost cantering for the race. That his worthy and honest straightforward owner was shamefully abused and robbed, I have no question in declaring, and we would almost rejoice to take a pilgrimage, barefooted, to Cambridge, to witness the same penalty, pains, and punishment, inflicted upon the dastardly miscreant who perpetrated the vile villany AS WAS carried into effect on Dan Dawson of notorious memory." Now what may our public think of the old "Sporting Magazine," logic, "letter-press," and all, from these samples of "words, mere words?" GLEANINGS FROM MY TRAVELLING JOURNALS. BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX. (Continued from page 46.) To the Editor of the SPORTING Review. Jan. 1, 1842. SIR,-There is a story told of the editor of a provincial newspaper, who, during the dead time of the season, had ransacked his brain for intelligence, and having collected every "remarkable event," "dreadful catastrophe, "lamentable suicide," "awful accident," "mysterious disappearance," extensive robbery," and "terrible occurrence," sat down 66 to enjoy his evening in peace, when he was interrupted by the entrance Your constant reader (as the newspapers term it), The time which Colonel Washington could spare from his building and agricultural improvements, between the years 1759 and 1774, was devoted to the chase. He was neither-to use an Americanism"a gunner," nor a disciple of old Isaak; but a passionate lover of fox-hunting, which, being of a bold and animating character, suited well with the temperament of the "lusty prime" of his age, and accorded peculiarly with his fondness for equestrian exercises. His kennel was situate about one hundred yards south of the family vault in which, at present, repose his venerated remains. The building was a rude structure, but affording comfortable quarters for the hounds, with a large enclosure paled in, having, in the centre, a spring of running water. The pack was very numerous and select-the Colonel visiting and inspecting his kennel morning and evening, after the same manner as he did his stables. It was his pride, and a proof of his skill in hunting, to have his pack so critically drafted, both as to speed and bottom, that, in full cry, to use a sporting phrase, you might cover them with a sheet. During the hunting season, Mount Vernon— to which might be applied the punning motto, "Vir non semper floret". had many sporting guests from the neighbourhood, from Maryland, and elsewhere. Their visits were not of days, but weeks; and they were entertained in the good old style of Virginia's ancient hospitality. Washington, always superbly mounted, in true sporting costume, blue coat, scarlet waistcoat (would they had been reversed), buckskin breeches, top-boots, and velvet cap, took the field at dawn of day (unlike our modern eleven o'clock gentlemen), with his huntsman, Will Lee, his friends, and neighbours; and none rode more gallantly to hounds, nor with voice more cheerly awakened echo in the woodland, than he who was afterwards destined, by voice and example, to cheer his countrymen in their struggle for independence and empire. Such was the hunting establishment at Mount Vernon prior to the revolution. We come now to events of later times. After the peace of 1783, the hunting establishment, which had declined during the war, was renewed by the arrival of a pack of French hounds, sent out by the Marquis de la Fayette. These chiens de chasse were of great size: "Bred out of the Spartan kind, So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung Matched in mouth like bells." The bells of Moscow, and great Tom of Lincoln, we should say, and, from their strength, fitted, not only to pull down the stately stag, but, in fierce combat, to encounter the wolf or boar, or even to grapple with the lordly lion. These hounds, from their fierce dispositions, were generally kept confined; but woe to the stranger who might be passing their kennel after nightfall. Should the gates be unclosed, his fate would be sealed, unless he could climb some friendly tree, or the voice of the huntsman or whipper-in came speedily" to the rescue." The habit was to hunt three times a week, weather permitting. Breakfast was served, on these mornings, by candlelight, the General always breaking his fast with an Indian-corn cake and a bowl of milk; and ere the "early village cock" had "done salutation to the morn," the whole cavalcade would have left the house, and the fox frequently be unkennelled before sunrise. Those who have seen Washington on horseback, admit that he was the most accomplished of cavaliers, in the true sense and perfection of the character: he rode, as he did everything, with ease, elegance, and power. The vicious propensities of horses were of no moment to so skilful and daring a rider. He always said that he required but one good quality in a horse, "to go along," and ridiculed the idea of its being even possible that he should be unhorsed, provided the animal kept on his legs; indeed, the perfect and sinewy frame of this admirable man gave him such a powerful seat, that a horse might as soon disencumber itself of the saddle, as of such a rider. The General usually rode a horse called Blueskin, a dark iron gray, approaching to blue; hence his name; a fine, but rather fiery animal, and of great endurance in a long run. Will, the huntsman, better known, in revolutionary lore, as Billy, rode a horse called Chinkling, a surprising leaper, and made very much like its rider, low, but sturdy, and of great |