horse is taken wherever the fixture may be; there is no blunder in mistaking places-so sure as the hounds are there, so sure is your horse. The horse has had his proper exercise, or a sweat, if wanted. If a frost sets in, without your troubling yourself about it, he gets a dose of physic; and if ordinary exercise cannot be given, artificial means are resorted to to give it. You have the advantage of a stud-groom over your horse, or horses, without keeping one. In fact, you ride a horse in condition, and equal to his task, instead of one to whom that task must be a labour of more than ordinary or necessary severity; for I consider that unnecessary that could be remedied without any material additional inconvenience or expense, or of perhaps any.

I can conceive few things so unpleasant as telling persons anything that looks like assuming to oneself superior judgment to theirs. It is never grateful to their feelings, and there is something diabolical in willingly saying what can be considered as mortifying to that little amour propre that actuates us all. I have friends whom I value highly, who are always in some dilemma with their horses; in fact, they are a constant source of loss, and anxiety, and annoyance to them. I am sure to hear of their grievances, and I as surely and sincerely condole with them. Some of them have every feeling of liberality and kindness to do all that is right and proper, do nothing perhaps glaringly wrong, and if they were to ask me what they did wrong, unless I could watch all that was done, and under all circumstances, I probably could not tell them. But where things for a continuance go wrong, it is not chance or fate that usually brings it about. With others, in the same predicament, it might be no difficult task to point out where they erred. But then, in telling them of one error, the same want of knowing how to do right would probably only change the error, so the one might be as bad as the other. There are persons, who, if they inquired in what their bad management consisted, could only be fairly answered by being told in everything. You are cheated in the price in buying, buy a bad sort, manage them badly, ride them badly, and drive them badly, and the people you employ can do no better. Now, this is that kind of sweeping charge that no man could make up his mind to make. It would be true enough, though, as regards some people: let us hope there are but few in such a case. But wherever any man finds a constant something amiss with his horses, if he is one of the best judges in England, I should say, consult with another; something is wrong, and the physician is wanting. True, you are one yourself, and a clever one; but somehow you take a wrong view of the case-thousands are in this predicament with their horses.

There is another mode of keeping the carriage and horses, that is, the jobbing; the advantages of which, as that of most things do, depend on the peculiar circumstances in which persons are placed. In a general way it is by no means the most economical one. Its pleasantry depends, in a great measure, on the turn of mind, or rather pursuit, of the person. Some men job hunters; agree for price, and the number they may choose to have placed at their disposal. So far as my particular turn goes, I should derive no more pleasure from riding Tilbury's horses during a season, than I should in riding a posthorse to Hounslow by way of an airing. I have been accustomed to own nice ones, had (I hope a pardonable) pride in them, and

I am free to confess, in their condition, and sometimes performance. Now I cannot conceive anything flattering to this little harmless vanity in riding such a horse, the property and under the management of the servant of another. But the feeling of having made a horse the clever animal he is, and bringing him into the condition he is, does go somewhere towards showing you know what you are about. I am quite willing to allow that making a hunter, bringing him out in king's plate condition, and riding him (supposing the latter to be done), is no great matter to be vain about; but if a man's mind and talents are not constituted to the performance of great achievements, it would be hard to deprive him of enjoying the little triumph attendant on the performance of minor ones.

We should have been sorry to see John Kemble sing a comic song between the acts of Hamlet. Now, I certainly could not play Hamlet, but I fancy I could manage "Jim along Josey." Well, it is better to be encored in that than hissed in Hamlet. So I have always fancied I could manage condition in hunters. In this cast of character I have been applauded-I hope I shall be encored.

Families who have a great deal of night work, and only keep a pair of horses to their carriage, perhaps do well to job; for this reason-As I said before, horses cannot stand all sorts of usage: not that there is any cruelty in night work; but if horses are wished to be in prime condition, they cannot stand it; so the job-master keeps horses for all purposes-gives you one pair for the day, and a pair of old seasoned hardy ones for night.

A lady who keeps a pair of horses, if she is to trust herself and them to the sole guidance of her coachman, had better job; for though she will have a round sum to pay the job-master, she will always have a pair ready; whereas, her coachman, by one means or other, will contrive to get nearly as much out of her pocket, and she may not always be able to have her carriage, if coachee has a friend coming to see him, or wants to go to a party.

From what I have said I trust I have borne out my assertion, that whoever undertakes the management of their stud, if they manage it badly must suffer in the pocket so long as the same management exists; this refers equally to the buying, management, and using it.

Mr. Tilbury's horses do well because they are well done; the jobmasters' horses do the same from the same cause; so will your hunter, or other horse, if sent to proper places to livery. They will of course do equally well at home, if equally well managed, either by the master or studgroom. But a person may candidly say, "I cannot manage well myself, nor can I keep a stud-groom." This is precisely the sort of person for whom I have written. It will be found I have written with a view to instruct any one how to manage-for to learn how to do this properly requires years of experience-but the one short (not flattering I allow), but honest advice, do not manage at all, is very easily learned. It is singular, if among a man's acquaintances he does not know one to whose judgment he can trust; if a man really does not know such a person, then I should say "Send your horses to livery at once." If, however, a man will not do this, really has no one he can consult with, does not choose to do so, and cannot manage for himself, I can only say, in such a case, I can give no more advice than I have; and it is one in which the patient must minister to himself."

or

109

THE BURTON HUNT.

Hark! from that cottage by the silent stream,
How sweet the redwing greets the rising gleam
Of light, that dawns upon the eastern hill,
Tipping with grey the sails of yonder mill!
Hark! from the lowland farm the watchful cock
Warns the dull shepherd to unfold his flock;
His hurdled sheep the fresh'ning breeze inhale,
Bleating for freedom and the clover vale.
See how away the severing clouds are driven!
How gay appears the unveiled face of heaven!
Those ruddy streaks foretell the sun is near,
To drink the dew, and glad our hemisphere.
Oh, did the sons of dissipation know
What calm delights from early rising flow,
They'd leave their pillow for the gay green fields,
To seek the health that fresh Aurora yields!

How indolence snores upon pillows of down!
How infirmity, guilt, and disease

Envy the gentle repose of the clown,

And in vain beg the blessing of ease!

But we bonny fellows, who follow the chase,
Of such troubles are never possessed;

The rose hue of health freely blooms in each face,
Showing peace holds the fort of the breast.

Or the wretches who feed on distress?
Oh, may such never taste of our rational bliss,
Till, like us, they disdain to oppress!

this?

See, to the copse how the hounds scud along!
They have found out the drag of the foe;
And Blankney's famed squire rides boldly along,
For he's now in the cover below.

Let's follow Lord Bentinck! he'll soon be in view. Yoicks! reynard skulks over the glade.

Spur your coursers, good fellows! and briskly pursue, Or his craft will our vengeance evade,

The shepherd with joy views the chase-
His lambs the vile traitor would fleece;
The farmer, delighted, beholds his disgrace,
And thinks of his turkeys and geese.
The maids of the village look gay;
The dames, o'er a jug of brown ale,
Tell what poultry of late was his prey,
And wish the staunch pack may prevail.

In quest of the fleet-footed foe,
As the hunters fly over the plain,
Ev'ry breast feels a rapturous glow,
Ev'ry tongue trills the jocular strain.

Far from the east uprolled the glorious sun,

And through each well-known ride the fox had run;
The stream he passed, and the vast mountain's height,
Seeking the dell where darkling brakes invite;
Then strove to earth, but strove to earth in vain.
He breaks the covert, tries the lawns again;
But as he fled, the crafty spoiler found
Fleeting behind the never-falt'ring hound.

Weary at length, he views the wide-mouthed throng,
And drags in pain his drabbled brush along.
Now spent, he falls, and rolls his haggard eyes;
And the rude savage wounds, and snarling dies.
Eager to view, the shouting train surround:
Hills, woods, and cliffs reverberate the sound.

Whilst Dick Burton exults to hunters around,
And holds up the strong-scented prize,
Elated with conquest, each staunch-mettled hound
Sends a clamorous peal to the skies.

The blast of the horn, borne afar on the gale,
Calls the sportsmen thrown out to the pack :
They meet round the spoil, if coursers don't fail,
And to dinner ride cheerfully back.

Such are the manly pleasures of the chase,
Which kings of old were eager to embrace.
Rich champagne flowed to glad the courtly crew;
Each cheek was garnished with a roseate hue,
Nor one pale Ganymede disgraced the court;
And he was honoured who most loved the sport.
No brooding malice there assailed the breast,
To cloud the brow or poison mental rest.
Oh, glorious sport, which can at once impart
Health to the frame and quiet to the heart!
Our fathers of old loved the sport,

Our nobles rejoiced in the chase;
They fled the intrigues of the court,
The heart-cheering toil to embrace.

Their offspring was ruddy and stout;
Curst lux'ry was yet in the bud;
They scarce knew the pangs of the gout;
Activity physicked the blood.

A fribble they seldom could meet;

But now how reversed is the scene!
The creature in every street
Exhibits his butterfly mien.

Could our ancestors rise from their graves,
At sight of the gay-spangled train
They'd fly the degenerate slaves,

And wish to be buried again.

May such never taste of our joy!
We sportsmen disclaim the whole race :
Whilst time over tea they destroy,

We're lost in the charms of the chase.

All you who would follow the musical horn,
Go early to bed, early greet the young morn,
Our sports shall secure you the bosom's repose,
And your cheek in old age wear the tint of the rose;
Your nerves shall be strong; you shall feel, in decay,
The raptures enjoyed by the young and the gay.
Then hither come you who'd live long in good health-
A blessing the wise much esteem before wealth.

"Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection
Embitters the present, compared with the past;
Where science first dawn'd on the powers of reflection,
And friendships were formed too romantic to last!
BYRON.

Dr. Dodd, familiarly called "Jemmy"-The Cana at Mother Pack's-The Young Patrician punished-"Pride must have a Kick"-My New Master-A ContrastFagging at Westminster forty years ago-Slavery in London in the present day→ Old Tothill Fields-A Visit to Richard and Miss Hubbert."

When I took leave of my readers at the end of the last chapter, I was suffering all the mental anguish attendant upon finding myself alone in a strange house with not a single friend, or even acquaintance, in it. While indulging in my grief the door opened, and "Dick" made his