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Wurtemburg, also a weighty personage, was a jolly hunter; and, though last, not least, the modern Alexander, Napoleon Buonaparte, did at times condescend to forget the cares of empire for the delight of a wild-boar chase.

I may say hunting in every country is patronised more or less. In India it is conducted in a style of great magnificence: in Germany too, with pomp and ceremony, and graced with the presence of the Ladies, which must at all times animate to noble deeds. Even the poor Laplander finds some amusement in his inhospitable clime. Here, we do the thing very quietly, being satisfied with prads not to be rivalled in any country, and men worthy to ride such prads. In olden times, the horse, although employed in war, was not useful in the chase; owing, I imagine, to the immense thickness of the forests in which their game was concealed, and which no horse could penetrate. We are not now troubled with these woods certain little thing called a post obit, with a Sheriff at its back, doing us the favour, occasionally, of clearing the country most effectually of the noble oaks that have flourished perhaps for centuries. O tempora! O mores! The natural antipathy of the horse to beasts of prey might have been another objection to enlisting him in the service; but custom, which in time reconciles us to anything, gradually made the horse more courageous, and he can now face the most savage denizen of the forest with perfect sang froid. By Julius Cæsar, and the successive invaders of Britain, this sport was therefore followed on foot: but on the arrival of the Normans (than whom no nation on

a

earth loved hunting to such excess) the horse became a distinguished actor; and from this era we may date the commencement of that perfection to which he has since attained, which has made him a comfort and a blessing to man; and equally valuable, whether for the dangerous ranks of war, the laborious toils of husbandry, or the lighter pleasures of the field.

The Normans had a very lazy way of doing business. Mounted on a strong cart-horse-sort of prad, they would perch on a hill or eminence near a wood, and exercise their lance or gun at the game, roused from their hiding places by the dogs. Our Continental neighbours to this day follow the Norman manner. England has since that made rapid advancement in the art of hunting; and this same barbarous sort of thing has long since yielded to a more varmint style. About a century and a half ago, only a slight cross of the Arab blood flowed in the veins of the English hunter. The horse most prized at that time was a slapping bony fellow, for fencing, and enduring. Such a nag was well fitted for the hounds of that day, but would be terribly at fault with our clippers of the kennel. From various crossings, the steed progressively became lighter of foot; the hounds keeping pace, till their velocity has become truly wonderful-perhaps indeed, for real enjoyment, too much so-for positively, with what we call our crackest packs, none but fliers of very high character can live in the field; and they sometimes get done up, from the spanking bat they go at over hill and dale. In fact, the mania, if I may so call it, of having such very swift hounds is a certain draw-back to the sport, and too

frequently occasions the downfall of many a capital hunter; for when the ground is heavy, it is an Herculean labour, even to a good horse, to be in at the finish; and a thorough-going pilot often gets grassed through the weakness of his nag. I don't attribute all the mishaps of the field to this cause; God forbid I should be so unjust! I think it unreasonable to wish hounds to run in to their fox in less than fifty minutes : this is surely quick enough, and has a decided advantage, by calling into action and proving the qualities of both horse and hound. Every stripling can make a display for a short time; but to go the pace for a length requires the nerves and powers of an experienced sportsman; and such a one must be not a little annoyed, when he goes out in hopes of seeing sport, to be under the necessity of riding like Old Harry or Tam O'Shanter, with the chance of laming a favorite horse for the honour of being in at the death. “Then adieu to those heroes, who, riding

for fame,

Knowing nothing of hunting except by

the name: Let them boast that they ride, never deigning to look ;

Let them swim by the dozen in Wissen

dine brook;

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same purpose, quære would not the advantage to the breeder be the same, by the increase of sale which must arise by their being within the reach of every man's pocket? To a young hand, whose first season perhaps it may be, this hard riding is a mighty fine thing; and the natural impetuosity and ardour of happy youth prevent his seeing any but the bright side of the picture; but a hunter grown grey in the service has far different ideas, With him, coolness, and a knowledge when and where to give a helping hand in facing a rasper or troublesome bit of timber, are the qualities he most relies on. And think not these are to be despised: fool-hardiness is not courage; for remember, slow and steady wins the race.

I may be old-fashioned-I no doubt am in my opinion: but I do think the whole pleasure of the day is destroyed by this precipitancy. I hate your chopping system: indeed, in this amuseand like to have plenty of fun ment I am am a perfect glutton, for my money. It is much too tame a thing to have a fifteen minutes' burst......et c'est fini! Some trouble, some difficulty, should attend everything in life, either business or sport. This difficulty is the salt with which the cup of life is seasoned, and without which 'twould be insipid in the extreme; even with it, 'tis at times" as weary as a thrice-told tale," and requires all one's philosophy to endure. But, as we have plunged into this tempestuous ocean, and cannot retract with honour, we must buffet the waves as we can, and be happy while we can ride to hounds, and have a clean shirt and a shilling, as the song says,

A-propos of peril: I often think I should like to have lived in those days when the Gentlemen of England delighted in rousing from his lair the sanguinary boar; or, better still, to join the hardy and courageous Swiss, who, in his perilous pursuit of the chamois, runs more risk and encounters more difficulties than our English hunter can dream of; but who, if blessed with success, retires to his mountain cot, joyfully warbling some wild native air, devours his scanty repast, and presses his humble pillow with a zest too seldom known to those who dwell in palaces, and upon whom all the refinements of luxury are exhausted. There is something singularly grand in the solitude of these mountains, whose dread silence, broken only by an occasional shot or call of the hunter, impresses the mind with awe, if not terror; and teaches it, better than all the books of Philosophy ever written, how little is poor Humanity. He who can descend from them with a heart untouched must be made of impenetrable stuff. True, here are no stupendous works of art to chain the contemplative mind; no remains of ages long since passed, to awaken the admiration of the antiquary, or force a sigh from the bosom of the philosopher for the vanity of all human undertakings. No, these are scenes that cannot be imitated-scenes

that must powerfully affect the heart of every Christian, and teach him to lift his soul in wonder and thankfulness to that Almighty Power, who by a breath called them into life, and can as easily

recal them.

Speaking of Nature and Art, the following interesting fact will teach how poor are all the works

But

of man compared to those of the
Great Creator. - An exceeding-
ly small needle, being examined
through a microscope, appeared
irregular and unequal; and the
surface, though extremely smooth
and bright to the naked eye,
seemed full of ruggedness, holes,
and scratches; in short it resem-
bled an iron bar out of a smith's
forge. But the sting of a bee,
viewed through the same instru-
ment, shewed everywhere a polish
amazingly beautiful, without the
least flaw, blemish, or inequality,
and ended in a point too fine to
be discerned. Some Brussels lace,
worth five pounds a yard, looked
as if it were made of a thick,
rough, uneven hair-line, entwist-
ed, fastened, or clotted together
in a very inartful manner.
a silkworm's web, being examin-
ed, appeared perfectly smooth
and shining, everywhere equal,
and as much finer than any thread
the finest spinner in the world
ever made, as the smallest twine is
finer than the thickest cable. Let
us examine things with a good
microscope, and we shall be im-
mediately convinced that the
utmost power of art is only a
concealment of deformity, an im-
position upon our want of sight;
and that our admiration of it
arises from our ignorance of what
Nature really is.—But I am, as
usual, digressing too much : it is, I
fear, my besetting sin; and lest
I should be scouted from all good
society by its indulgence, I will
endeavour to eradicate it-tear it
up by the roots like some noxious
weed. Dearest, most well-be-
loved brethren, I must now bid
you farewell; and, if I offend
again, condemn me to be whipper-
in to ye all for the rest of my life.
GILBERT FORESTER.

Lydford, October 14, 1831.

A DORSETIAN SKETCH, No. IX.-BLANDFORD RACES.

"Hay diddle, diddle,

The horse and the fiddle!"

HEARING, Mr. Editor, that All the World and his Wife were to be at Blandford Races, I resolved to go too, not having seen the Old Lady for some years; so in due course of time mounted my hack, and away I went, " gallopping dreary dun." At Blandford all the folks were in great commotion, hopping about as if they had just been galvanised, and smiling and smirking like so many gas inhalers. Having an idle half hour on my hands before starting for the course, I made the most of my time by taking a peep at the natives, all decked out, old and young, like the last ewe at a sheep-shearing:-such ribands and such flowers-why even Flora's own self wouldn't have been recognised among so many but hang me, Sir, if I ever saw so many beautiful women before in my life; there wasn't a real ugly one to be met with, nor scarcely a plain one. It's worth anybody's while to go to Blandford if they've a mind to see a pretty woman. There were all the tradesmen's wives and daughters looking out of the open windows, or sailing along the pavé, if such it can be called, dressed so beautiful, and looking so pleasant, and seemingly so good-natured, and in such spirits! Mercy on me, if it didn't make one's very heart go bump, bump with looking at them, just for all the world as a body does on a high-stepping coach-horse without a saddle on the stones in Piccadilly. I know not what this

bump may be denominated in Craniology, but probably that celebrated Bumpologist, De Ville, who seems quite at the head of his calling, would give it a place as a kind of organic medium, situated somewhere between Philosophy and Philoprogenitiveness. Then poured in from all parts the farmers' wives and families, looking all just so like a newpainted jaunting car, with their Leghorn bonnets, and finely-bordered shawls, and black leather shoes, talking their very tongues out almost with pleasure: then came their larger halves-gallant, gay, Lothario Life Guardsmenlooking Yeomanry Cavalry, in their well-washed Don-Cossack whites, nicely buttoned up in front just as it should be, sitting bolt upright like one of their own well-filled corn sacks, the toe being well placed and both heels well down......looking altogether just like what Yeomary should look going to Blandford Races.

As the hour of one approached the carriages of the Nobility and Gentry rolled in, filled with beautiful women, such as blue skies seldom shine upon elsewhere : but to do adequate justice to the Aristocracy of this county requires an abler and more descriptive pen than mine-their every look is love: so 'twas as much as a moderate-minded man like me could do very well in one morning gazing at them, without employing one's fingers or faculties in passing comments on their carriage, costume, or character,

which no doubt keep pace with the prevailing standard of the day.

The road leading to the scene of action, as such roads generally are, was strewed with various views of passing humanity, from the illustrious M.P. and the wealthy Baronet, to the humble peasant and the lowly beggar from the four-in-hand, well coupled up, to the jackass-gingerbread cart, all no-how-dandies, drunkards, draymen, draggletails filling up the void. Here you might see fair ladies lolling in all the listlessness of luxury in the elegant landaulet-and there the jolly fat wife of a publican, finer far than any rainbow, sitting stiff and pompous one of her own pewter pots, in the one-oss chay:-here a trio of apprentices, endeavoring to outvie each other in the art of strutting; and next a countryfied group of young men and maidens, all linked together quite in a family-way-like, seemingly all of a piece, and laughing at nothing, ready to split their sun-burnt sides.

as

But to the business of the day; for the cry of "Here comes the horses, here comes the horses! clear the course, clear the course, clear the course!". -was vociferated very loudly from all quarters. And sure enough, Sir, the horses did come, looking as proud, as pearmongers→→→→

"And backwards and forwards they switch'd their tails,

As a Gentleman switches his cane."

Deans beating Mr. Farquharson's b. c. Bacchanal by Reveller, and Mr. Portman's b. f. Elspat by Swinton: General Grosvenor's g. c. by Gustavus paying forfeit. Bacchanal would have been the favorite, only when he does start he generally makes a point of bolting half way home (notwithstanding his owner gave him the "cut direct" after the Bath Races), which is rather against his ever coming in first, unless he walks over solus. A bad horse, however, might with ease have beat the other two, which at present certainly look somewhat like screws, though they may alter, and it is to be hoped will.

For the Gold Cup of 100 sovs., two miles, four horses started, being won by Mr. Biggs's Wassailer beating Terror, Cornelian, and another. It was not much of a race-John Day riding the winner.

A Plate of 501., for maiden horses, heats, two miles and a distance, was won by Mr. Pee's b. f. by Centaur beating Mortimer, Bacchanal, Elspat, and Boldre. Mortimer won the first heat somewhat easy, but gave place to the filly in the next two, making, however, good racing. Bacchanal, as usual, bolted; Elspat was anywhere, and Boldre nowhere. John Day rode the winner.

A Match for 25 sovs., the New Mile, was won by Mr. Beauman's bay pony Twinkle, by Swinton, 5 yrs, beating Mr. Radclyffe's grey pony Mayflower, by Lapdog, 3 yrs; won easy.

The day's sport concluded with the Bryanston Stakes of 5 sovs. each, with 25 added by the Members of the County-handicap, heats, the New Mile. Won easily by Mr. Biggs's Wassailer

The sport commenced with a Sweepstakes of 50 sovs. each, for the produce of mares of 1827, over the New Mile Course, which was won by Mr. Radclyffe's b. f. Susanne, by Figaro out of Effie VOL. IV.-SECOND SERIES.-No. 19.

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