fore seven, some few casualties simple but detaining, either "the buckle or the buckle's tongue," and such like.

Merrily we journeyed-passed several gates without any incident worth mentioning, paid four-pence halfpenny toll, and were admitted into the village of Snodland--a name within a letter of being filthy. Snodland is situated on the Medway, and is midway between Maidstone and Stroud. At the first catch of a frost 'tis noted for good snipe shooting, and looks well from the road. Inquired of the landlord of the Inn......at this time but few found. After passing Stroud, a few miles brought us into the hundred of Hoo. The road is on the margin of the marshes nearly all the way to Stoke. In this part grounds appear very tempting, particularly about the lastnamed place-looking brown, rushy, and reedy; and, had not the day been far advanced, should have tried them. At Stoke fell in with a snipe-shooter, looking keen and sharp, as if few would escape his gun......he still sticks to Steel. He gave us some useful information respecting the object of our journey, was very will ing to join us, fancied we came from London, and a bag was our principal aim......we unclouded him on this point, and refused his proffered kindness.

I have always found, in all snipe countries, a man that either is or has the reputation of being a deadly shot; and although they may guide one to some of the best places, and through the intricacies of marsh-ditches, they are often an eye-sore to those who farm the land, as snipe and wild-fowl are not their only pur

suit......but hares, or any other game! and as coursing is a sport much enjoyed by the proprietors and occupiers of these marshes, it is to be expected they are a little tenacious and anxious about that animal the chase of which gives them so much pleasure. No honorable man, particularly one fond of wild-fowl shooting, would abuse any leave or liberty he may get to pursue his delightful sport. I have never found it difficult to get snipe-shooting on this condition-not to kill hares ; and, I can safely say, I never abused it.

After bedding at Stoke, moved on to Grain, and eagerly commenced sport. The rains had not been sufficient to fill the fleets

they were hard, and on the margin covered with a green crust, an appearance snipes do not like, and of course were not numerous. This day saw a flight pass over our heads to the wind, which was south.

Our sport increased with our acquaintance with the Isle and Islanders, the King of which paid us a visit on the third day. Though it was our duty on our first arrival on the Island to have presented to him our letter of introduction, we neglected to do so; entirely owing to some wrong information from a person our first letter was delivered to. This we much regretted, as we lost three days of this Gentleman's kindness, and should have avoided the little unpleasantness that occurred on the first of his visit, which the production of the letter named soon turned into mirth, and a cheerful and social companion. He directed us to the best places on the Isle, and a kind invitation to partake of his hospi

tality, which we only refused for the sake of pursuing our sport. This Gentleman weighs eighteen stone, and is worthy to be a King. I never could fancy a little man possessing Majesty ..even Pope, with all his intellect, would have been lost in robes. Some nations choose their Kings from their great men......wise for a nation that depends on manual prowess for its defence for emulation produces a robust race of people. The old maids and bachelors of such a country, I suppose, must be of the lesser class.

As our sport increased, unfortunately so did the size of our shot, which rose from No. 7 to No. 3-not very favorable to kill with any certainty so small a bird as the snipe in consequence we did not make a very brilliant wind-up to our few days' sport. I am no advocate for large shot, andam from experience convinced that No. 7 will kill most of our game birds forty yards from the gun, for what is lost in strength is gained in quantity. This disappointment has fixed on my mind never to trust to remote villages to supply any deficiency of ammunition which I can conveniently carry with me. Setting aside this mishap, our sport was rather successful.

The best time for Grain and neighbouring marshes is after heavy rains with strong winds blowing E. or N.E. The snipes seldom tarry long, as most of the water in the fleets is a little brackish, and not what snipes generally like. Amongst the snipes we killed were three whose legs were of a bright lemon colour, and much thicker and shorter than those of any other snipes I

ever met with. The bright yellow appearance of the legs is entirely new to me, as all the snipes I had previously killed (and they are not a few) have invariably had light slaty-green shanks.

During our short stay in Grain, all the snipes and various wildfowl we saw were journeying southward, their heads to the wind. One flight of snipes (and we saw several) had at least from one to two hundred in it. None of them seemed inclined to descend, but steadily pursued their journey. Grain possesses many fleets, which once were creeks, previous to a wall being raised to encompass most of its marsh lands. These fleets are stored with very large and delicious eels, which during the month of May seek ingress to them from the Thames and Medway. At this time they are very small. In the autumn they are desirous to return to salt water, and, when heavy rains set in, are taken in nets placed near the sluices. Grain a few years ago made a successful stand against the assumed rights of the City of London; the City demolished Grain-bridge, for which act it had to pay a few thousand pounds! The cause was tried at Guildford.

Grain has likewise a niche in the history of art, that inimitable painter Hogarth having once paid it a visit in an intended tour from Blackwall to Dover. Major, in his edition of Walpole's Lives of the Painters, alludes to this as follows:-" It was a party of pleasure down the River into Kent, undertaken by Mr. Hogarth, Mr. Scott, and three of their friends, in which they intended to have more humour than they accom

plished, as is commonly the case in such meditated attempts. The tour was described in verse by one of the company, and drawings made by the two painters, but with little merit, except in the views taken by Mr. Scott."

Previously to our journey, the ague and cholera morbus were prophesied to be our associates, and quinine and a load of other medicines were recommended. This advice we did not take; neither did we regret its absence: small shot we did. On the Isle we found an obliging landlord, dry beds, comfortable fire, and an

excellent glass of Port. And now, Mr. Editor, I am safe home: and if this will give variety to your entertaining and instructive Magazine, it is much at your service: and should I ever be a connubial advertiser after some pretty, placid, and kind qualifications, I should wish the lady to have a snipe-bog in her own right.

The compliments of the season to you, and all lovers of the trigger!-Yours,

PEREGRINE MARSHMAN.

December 24, 1831.

The Suffolk (or, perhaps, more properly speaking, Mr. Mure's) fox-hounds have now been established about four seasons, and at covert-side the turn-out of the men, hounds, and horses may vie with any pack in England denominated provincial. Few men could have effected more than Mr. Mure has in the same period of time; for the difficulties that presented themselves in the outset were many, and required great patience and perseverance to subdue and remove. In the first place, the country had not been hunted for ten or twelve

years; the foxes had all been destroyed; or if two or three

the

contrived to live, and escape vigilance of the gamekeepers, they knew no more of fox-hunting than Polar bears; and every man of experience must agree with the opinion of the celebrated Meynell, that well-trained foxes are as necessary to sport as good hounds. Added to this, Suffolk was, and still is, a great preserve for game; and the prejudices in favour of battueing were strong amongst many of the Aristocracy, and which (until this feeling could in some measure be removed) would set at defiance the attempts of the wisest to hunt the country. But it has in a great measure been subdued by the popularity of Mr. Mure and the vox populi in favour of fox-hunting. Foxes have bred and increased, and in most parts are now preserved; and with regard to extent of country, there is quite enough to employ hounds three or four days a week.

The kennel is situated at Herringswell, between Bury St. Edmunds and Newmarket, and perhaps not quite so central as might be wished; but by occasionally sleeping out one night, this difficulty is overcome. To those who know something of the locality of the country, I shall state that their draw extends from Redgrave Hall, the seat of George Wilson, Esq., to Balsham Wood, on the borders, or in the county of Cambridge, East and West a distance of about thirty miles; and from Snare Hill, by Thetford in Norfolk, to Long Melford in Suffolk, North and South a distance of about twenty-six miles.

The pack consists of about fifty couples of hunting hounds, fifteen of which were purchased at the commencement of this season of Sir Richard Sutton, and were esteemed the élite of those which Sir Richard had purchased of Lord Middleton. They are mostly divided into a dog and bitch pack, but occasionally (very properly) the ladies and gentlemen have their fun together. Will Rose, bred by his Grace the late Duke of Grafton, got by his famous Ould Tom, hunts them. Sam Hibbs, from the kennel of Sir George Sitwell, a clever ferreting chap, is the first whip; and a young one, training up in the way he should go" by these artists, is as handy and active as any mischievous boy can be, and occasionally assists them.

I would not, if I could, give the pedigree of all the leading hounds of this pack; nothing appears to me to be so uninteresting as a catalogue of canine appellations: but if any one is desirous

of reading it, I should say, vide Daniel's Rural Sports. What matters it to the thousands who read the Magazine to know whether a good hound was from the blood or kennel of the Duke of this, my Lord that, or Mr. sucha-one? If we walk into twenty different kennels of fox-hounds of any note, and begin to search into pedigree, we shall find that, like race-horses, they are all bred well enough, and vary one from another very little in essentials. In fact, the thorough-bred foxhound blood has been disseminated through every part of the kingdom, and is as common vaccine inoculation-shape, size, and condition shewing the judgment and tact of the proprietor.

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As it is my intention at some future period to offer some remarks on hounds and hunting in the present day, I shall now leave this part of the subject, and give you the result of three days' sport that I have just witnessed.

The first time I met these hounds this season was on Saturday the 10th of December, at Tuddenham village, close to their kennel. At the time of meeting the rain came down in torrents, but they were to their appointment to a moment: there was no flinching; and after a thorough soaking, and drawing one covert blank, the clouds dispersed, and became, what is usually thought to be a real hunting day, warm and muggy. A fox was soon found: the scent made the pace awful, and the rabbit-holes that abound in this part of the country made the riding dangerous ; but there was no fencing, nor checking, and "bellows to mend" was the order of the day. Pug stood this sort of usage for about

twenty minutes, describing a large circle, and wisely sheltering at last in the family mansion-a large earth in which he and many generations of foxes had first tasted mother's milk. This earth was old-fashioned and strong, and was considered, as an Englishman's house used to be, his castle; the sanctity of his home was not violated, and he lives, it is to be hoped, to "fight another day."

As soon as faces were wiped, horses' girths loosened and tightened, the merits of the run discussed over a few pinches of snuff, the order was again sounded to horse, and we trolled on to find another of the family: when lo and behold we lighted on enough to form a board of health, and from what followed we may fairly conclude this was the object of their concentrating. However, our unceremonious visit dispersed the committee, and the varmints were scampering in all directions. For some time there was a sort of running fight between hounds, foxes, whippers, and assistant volunteer-whips, amongst the high gorse bushes, endeavoring to restore order and bring the attention of the pack to a single individual. After some trouble this was partly effected, and an unfortunate fox became an easy prey, being in the last stages of cholera morbus. A year ago, we should perhaps have said he was mangy; but it will not do to go against fashion, or the stream, and there is but one disease now-a-days recognized by the faculty as a scourge for man or beast......and this is the cholera.

The hounds, without being suffered to taste the ill-favored animal, were now halloo'd on to

the scent of another that had been seen to steal away about five minutes previously. After being lifted over a little difficulty that presented itself in the shape of a long wooden-bridge that divides Canham and Tuddenham, over which the fox had escaped, and some few yards up a hard road, they dropped their sterns, and started off due north at a good St. Leger pace......all in the open again-not a fence of any sort to stop a fat duck to be met with: but those infernal rabbit-burrows (invisible in many places from the heather that grows over them) were every minute to be dreaded, and in many instances separated horse and rider. The fox, as good as ever was littered, kept his head as straight as one of Manton's particulars for about nine miles, and beat us shamefully in the parish of Elden. It was in a large open field of turnips where the hounds first came to a check; and, although the fox was viewed but a few minutes before them going into some young gorse, and they were immediately put upon the line, they would not own it, and there, in point of fact, ended (but for this mishap) a most splendid run. Rose persevered forward for another mile or so; but all his efforts were fruitless, and we came to a halt. ""Tis all over!"-very few remarks beyond good morning, extra handkerchiefs tied round the neck, cigars lighted, exeunt in fumo.

There was a strong muster of the Newmarket lads on this day, who of course were at home at a racing pace in an open country. Amongst these, Arthur Pavis, on Miss Craven (late the Duke of Richmond's), was one of the most conspicuous. Sam Day, who I was