had great difficulty with his stirrups, and a running fire was kept up between him and the horsekeeper: this was Samuel Darling. Sam had finished his season at Oswestry races, and had been invited by the squire to Bryn-Tannat. At last the stirrups were short enough, and we all trotted to the village.

I must now protest against attempting to describe the localities by their Welsh names. I remember our next meet was on the Llanfyllin road; Jack was getting important, the gentlemen were becoming rather anxious, and the hounds were getting busy.

"Hark to Maniac," cheerily cried the Squire.

"Beaumont, by God, sir," roared Jack, and instantly came a "Gone away," in Jack's unique style.

A rush along a wet bottom and a queer fence were soon disposed of by all except Darling and the Squire's black mare, who rolled sweetly into the ditch together, and as the jockey crawled out, a very "dirty Darling, by the lord," cried F. S.; "you were as near down as ever I saw a man in my life," but "Forrard" is the cry, and the Squire on the old brown mare is showing the way to gallop up a mountain, and the thrilling reverberations of the pack are undulating with the breeze. I may just remark, that the southron finds it rather queer at first to gallop up the hills, but still more to keep the pace down them, his position being decidedly like that of the fly on the window-pane; however the sure-footed Welsh nags soon give him confidence, then a buoyant sense of enjoyment ensues. There is something delicious in sweeping through

"The Welsh vales mid mountains high;"

a sense of the beautiful, ever varying in character and effect, yet always present, luxuriates the mind as the noble sport does the body. But the pace was too serious to allow digression; there was little babbling then, and the Squire and two or three knowing ones were just on the mountain brow, and the next moment stooping like hawks into the valley. "Forrester! at her, boy!" Poor puss was trying a double on the side of the next hill; but on they came, one compact headlong body, straining to the view. There goes Jack's whoop, and by heaven! there was Jack in the midst of them, with puss aloft, dealing out his smoking favours to his pets. How he got there was not so easily made out, as the redpaint he had smeared on the white of the hounds; some were rolling in the grass, others teetotalling at a bubbling runnel, while the sun brightened up the distant covert of larches, and careered from tree to tree, gilding the variegated foliage, the yellow fern, and the sparkling

water.

The beaters came dropping in, looking apoplectic, and streaming with exertion. One of Jack's especial favourites was blue-mottled, with tan, rough hair, and long ears of black velvet, his chops adorned with grizzly whiskers. The specimen was of an ancient Welsh breed, famous for courage, endurance, and sagacity in picking out a cold scent. These merry harriers killed a fox in fine style, dashing into him, maugre his rat-trap teeth, like lion's, after an hour's run without a check.

But where was the "Darling" all this while? quietly tidying himself

in the valley, the black mare tugging at the briddle, with ears erect, distended nostrils, and impatient pawings, while he was wondering how people could be found to call this pleasure, and fervently d- -g all such whirligig work, and thinking of the silken jacket, and the smooth course, and then of the cracks he would undergo at the dinnertable, where fun and social glee reigned unchecked, where mirth seemed to make his home, and where many a tale worth remembering was told, where all that good nature and most enlarged liberality could do was done to add to each guest's enjoyment, and the whole crowned by the courtesy and polished manners of the host.

A GOOD "MORNING.",
G.”,

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY THE LATE J. BATEMAN.

The days passed away, and dwindled as they passed. Summer melted into autumn; the green berries became black (we picked and ate them occasionally); the green nuts became brown, and rattled in their cups, or fell noisily to the ground; the harvest was gathered, and the ploughman was abroad in the field. At no period had we fared so bounte ously. Birds and beasts as young, but far more guileless than ourselves, were met with at every turn, and our larder was plenteously sup plied. My knowledge of the country, too, greatly increased. I made nightly excursions, to the distance of several miles, not always returning home, but curling myself up and sleeping in the first convenient spot I came upon after a full meal. Pug was of a more stay-at-home character; but he, too, fared sumptuously every night, and slept as soundly at home as I did abroad.

Early one morning about the middle of September, I was rudely awakened by noises of a most frightful description, which as they rung in my ears recalled with shuddering dread the fearful scene of my early escape from danger and death.

Yoick over! Yoick over! Eleu in there, good hounds! Yoicks, wind him! Yoick, wind him there! Creep in, little bitch! And then the boding cry of a hound fell on my ear. Have at him there, Monitor! Have at him! Hark to, Monitor, hark! Get together, hounds! At once, accompanied by the crack of whips and the long-drawn blast of a horn, the cry of some three-score hounds burst upon my ear, as my poor fat brother Pug was unkennelled.

I was but little better off; for, running from my lair some few yards distant, my scent was at once taken up by about six couple of hounds, who dashed after me at a pace which tried both wind and muscle.

Instantly my mind was made up. I had confidence in my own powers, and was resolved to pit them against those of my enemies. In a moment I was outside the gorse, and clearing at a bound the loose wall before me, jumped into the brook, and swam boldly across, in full

view of some half-dozen mounted horsemen stationed at the corner of the gorse.

Tally-ho, away! Tally-ho, away! greeted me as I crept dripping up the opposite bank; and shaking the water from my fur, I headed boldly for Thorny Wood, an extensive covert some four miles off.

Whether my strength would have enabled me to reach this refuge in face of my pursuers, I cannot say; but the hounds, as they showed themselves outside the gorse, were instantly stopped, and by dint of voice and whip compelled to join the body of the pack, who were closely hunting the unfortunate Pug.

Poor Pug! As I have said, he was of a domestic, stay-at-home character, and scarcely knew copse or spinney, or refuge of any kind, a mile from the gorse. His sole hope was, by a knowledge of the localities, to elude his pursuers; and this for a long time he did. Creeping here, crawling there, running when he had the opportunity, crouching low when he feared to run, the eager hounds were a hundred times behind him, and before him, and around him, close upon him, over him, without seeing him, until in an unlucky moment he endeavoured to cross a narrow ride cut for rabbit-shooting. Ben's sharp eye, as on the former occasion, caught sight of him, and a shrill yell brought up in a second the body of the pack. With a crack and a yelp, and a last snap at his foremost assailant, poor Pug yielded up his breath. Oh, what a row there was! The young hounds had to be "blooded," to be roused and excited not only to hunt a fox, which, as any other strong-smelling animal, they would do by nature, and to worry him, which their naturally combative disposition would incline them to do, but to eat him; and eating a portion of a fox for the first time is about as agreeable to a young hound as smoking a cheroot, or chewing an olive is to a young Cambridge or Oxford man.

Our print is fitted from A Fox's Tale, while Cecil thus writes of the opening Mornings:-" Nothing can be more delightful than the fine mornings of autumn, such as we have experienced during the latter portion of the past month, and with which the present is inaugurated. All nature is still, as the sun begins to peep above the horizon; the atmosphere clear and calm, save here and there a slight mist arising from a stream flowing beneath the hanging wood abounding with the gigantic oak, still clad in dark green foliage. These enjoyments are vastly increased by the early appearance of the hounds."

The Badminton, the Brocklesby, and other crack packs, have long been busy amongst the cubs, whilst a good story is told of the keenness of the Pytchley in this way. Rooke, the head- whip, meeting a sporting yeoman some time since, asked when they might pay him a visit, as the Master was anxious to begin again. Begin again!" echoed the other "6 ; why, you were there in May, and want to be back in July. Don't talk about beginning again, for it seems to me you never leave

off!"