heart, but not anything in form of what a hunter ought to be. After some parade and trotting, during which the runner of Highwayman showed the highest knee action of almost anything on the ground-a thing we can appreciate to a certain extent, but beyond that we feel quite satisfied it is not only detrimental to speed, but even to safety, as horse or man must very soon tire. So marked, however, was the Piccadilly-going of Mr. Holmes' runner that it caused roars of laughter, but if a horse made as much flourish it was splendid! splendid! yet if we come to sift the question there is after all very little difference in the motion of the horse or man, for either placing the foot even on the ground will in all probability get safe over it, or by sticking their toes in come to grief. Still, Highwayman, a gentlemanly goer without any flourish, was awarded the first prize, and the chesnut by Greatheart the second; the latter might go, and be up to weight, for horses go in all forms, but not all Yorkshire shall persuade us that he is in make and shape anything like what a hunter ought to be. Provided all were equally sound, we should have gone for Silas Marner or Sprig of Nobility."

In 1865, at the Islington Horse Show, Sprig of Nobility was passed over in the mixed class of seventy-five, where Lord Spencer's Brown Stout was pronounced to be the best of the heavy-weights, and Mr. John Bennett's Lady Florence of the light-weights; nor does the Sprig appear to have done much better elsewhere.

In 1866, Sprig of Nobility was not sent to Islington, and at the grand Show at York in the great class of the year he appeared to have quite lost his action, and was left accordingly in the ruck with Voyageur, Silas Marner, Sportsman, and others, the first prize going to Mr. Jacob Smith's The Swell, after purchased for the Prince of Wales, and the second to Sir George Wombwell's Hawk's-Eye, once sold to the Emperor of the French. But the whole class should have been commended.

In 1867, at the Islington Show Sprig of Nobility took the first prize of £100-the highest prize ever offered for a horse in work—as the best weight-carrying hunter up to 15 stone, and as the property of his present owner, Major Stapylton, in a class running up to fifty-two entries. In this, as we wrote at the time, "there were some first-rate horses, and some old stagers who have appeared before the bench at many a show, both in town and the provinces. Among the latter was Beechwood, a horse we always set our faces against, and to whom no end of prizes have been awarded; but now in his prime at seven years old, he is passed over, and we will ask any one, does he look like a hunter, or could he ever have done so? Then there was Sprig of Nobility, well known within the arena, and whom we have often described as a very fine gentlemanly-looking horse, but rather a scratchy goer in all his paces. This was observable at York last year, where there was plenty of room, and the more he performed the less he was liked; but here he gained the first place. Then there was Steam Plough, who made his first appearance at Worcester a few years back, and who has been carrying his owner regularly, Mr. Ruck, of Crick lade, who pulls down eighteen stone with the saddle. This makes Steam Plough a weight-carrier and no mistake, but we fancy it must be at a miserable pace. Another was Buffon, who came out at Doncaster, and has thickened into a grand horse, but the load at the point

of his shoulder spoils him. Then Master of Arts, although but a young one, is well known in the ring, and if greatly improved still lacks breed, and there is a stiffness about him forward that makes us fancy he would ride like a wooden one. The second-prize horse, Little John, is full of hunting character, deep, low, wiry, and well put together, but a trifle short in the quarter, and with fifteen stone on his back we should think he would have quite as much as he could do, or a little more, with anything like a pace. Priest, a dark grey, five-yearold, is a fair-shaped horse, with very big feet, and his getting a place astonished many. Of the others which most struck us as hunters were Mr. H. Powell's (Market Harborough) Bromley, a rare stamp, that looked like a fifteen-stone hunter and going, with nothing flash about him; his brown horse Lion was another useful slashing-looking horse, and a grand fencer; but faulty in his back ribs. Mr. Maddock's (Surbiton) Sambo is a nice showy corky-going horse with plenty of blood, but not quite perfect in his shoulders. Messrs. Crisp's (Northumberland) Hobgoblin is a beautifully-made nag, with a deal of style. Mr. Baker's (Clapham Common) Irish Boy was one of the good old-fashioned hunters that an Oxford livery-stable-keeper might make a fortune out of, in letting out to the heavies,' as he looked like pounding away for ever, and we doubt if he could go fast enough to tire himself. Mr. Newton's Yorkshire Lad was very deep in his ribs; but looked as slow as a top, and not what he was said to be thoroughbred. Mr. G. Robson (Easingwold, Yorkshire) has a hunter in Ex-President, and Mr. W. Blewitt (Watford) a good-looking one in Colonel. There were some others worthy of note, but we could not catch their numbers."

Sprig of Nobility was not entered at Bury St. Edmund's, and he had his usual luck at the Yorkshire Show, at Thirsk, where he was one of the first drafted, and the place of honour given to Voyageur. The Sprig was ridden during the summer by his owner as a hack in Rottenrow, and we saw the Major put him very cleverly over the bar at Thirsk. In the Row he has been followed by his stable companion Stamford, a very handsome powerful grey with good action, and the prize-horse in the weight-carrying Park Hack Class at Islington. When in town Sprig of Nobility is in capital quarters, and with the grey and a well-matched team of blacks, stands in one of the neatest, sweetest, and cleanest stables ever entered. Even beyond his taste for the road and the chase Major Stapylton has also a turn for the turf, and that useful nag Sundeelah has been doing very well of late in the violetand-straw colour.

The horse-show is becoming more and more popular, as far more enjoyable to a sportsman than the crowding and "roughing" that now too often characterise many a race or steeplechase meeting; and on these grounds we give the prize-horses a prominent place in our pages. But it is still noticeable that some of the most famous of these have not turned out very handsomely when put to work. The renowned Beechwood shrunk away to nothing, and is said not to be worth a bunch of dog's-meat after a ten-minutes' burst; and the still more successful Voyageur, "the best stand-still horse in England," has been offered in vain at Tattersall's, for not a London dealer will look at him. But Mr. Gee has done better with some of his prize team, and a week or so since sold at the hammer his black four-year-old Tom to Mr. Henry

Chaplain for 420 gs., and the five-year Buffon to Mr. Maddock for 210 gs. But there was no buyer for Master of Arts; and The General, the most workman-like horse of the lot, also went back again. The plan of encouraging the breeding of horses in this way is still fast extending, and we lately "assisted" at a large and really capital show of hunters at Carmarthen, as there appears to have been another very good one at Abergavenny. The proceedings here, however, were scandalised by a wrangle or objection of a somewhat novel nature. In the class of hunters up to 12st.-there being another class of heavyweights the first prize was awarded to Captain Heygate's well-known Mountain Dew; but, as the local report runs on, "an objection in accordance with the rules was made to him, by Colonel Lindsay, Major Hotchkis, and Mr. Batt, on the ground that the horse having been classed as a 14-stone hunter, and taken first prizes at Newport, Manchester, and other places, in such classes, he could not be shown as a 12-stone hunter." It is difficult to say why not, without seeing the conditions, but surely such a matter should rest with the judges. Some men like to have a horse a stone or two above their weight, and if objections like this are to be entained it is hard to say where they will end. "Can I lodge an objection against the award ?" asked rather pompously a reverend gentleman who had exhibited an under-bred beast in a class of hunter-stallions. "Certainly," replied the Steward; pray what is its purport?" "Well, then," answered the other, "I don't consider that the judges have given the prize to the best horse." The less of these objections the better.

66

"HERE'S SPORT

INDEED!"

BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX.

CHAP. LXXIII.

SHANSTEANS.

According to a foreigner's notion of England, the principal occupa tion of our countrymen during the gloomy month of November is to commit suicide; and yet we will take upon ourselves to say that there are quite as many acts of self-destruction committed in other countries as in our foggy island during the above period. Occasionally we admit that the inhabitants of the metropolis are for four-and-twenty hours enveloped in a dense vapour; but in the provinces the weather is scasonable, and admirably adapted for field sports, for it seldom happens that hunting is stopped, eleven or twelve nights of frost being about the average. Few months, therefore, are more eagerly looked forward to, or more highly prized by the lover of the "noble science" and the "gunner" than November; for on the 1st, the meets of the several packs of fox-hounds are advertised, and that fine English pastime commences in down-right good earnest.

Pheasant shooting, too, can be carried on to perfection, while coursing and steeplechasing fill up the vacant hours. We have often cen sured the latter break-neck amusement as it is now carried on, and

we see no reason to change our opinion. The original object of this

sport was to test the merits of hunters across a fair hunting country, by calling upon them to make the best of their way from a given place to some conspicuous point, such as a church-steeple. This spirit of emulation, when owners or unprofessional jockeys rode, was rather to be approved of than condemned; but when the affair became a gambling one-when horses, that had never been in at the death of a fox, and had merely shown at the cover-side a few times, for the purpose of getting a qualification-when paid riders were put up, and artificial fences, strong stone walls, and yawning ditches, formed part of the course-then the whole aspect was changed, and the trial of skill between hunters degenerated into a dangerous and speculative race. Happily for riders and steeds, some of the best steeplechases take place where a sufficient quantity of fences, hurdles, and brooks tend to diversify the sport of a flat race. In the absence of heavy wet land, or severe ridge-and-furrow, the animals seldom, if ever, get so deadbeat as to flounder in the water, or break their backs at a fence, and upon such race courses, with gentlemen riders, the objectionable part vanishes, and the affair becomes sportsman-like, requiring judgment, patience, skill, courage, and a thorough knowledge of the course.

As under the title that heads this article, a large margin is allowed, and as an admixture of ancient sports with modern ones may not be unpalatable to the reader, I shall lay before him some deeds of by-gone days, commencing with a letter dated Nov. 20th, 1611, from Jolin Chamberlain, an independent gentleman and classical scholar, to his friend Sir Dudley Carleton. In this we find the following passage regarding King James I. and his Queen :-"The King is hunting at Newmarket, and the Queen at Greenwich practising for a new masque." This brief sentence shows at once the ruling passions of those two royal personages. Queen Anne was as much devoted to court masques, as her consort was to the chase. His flatterers betowed on him the title of the British Solomon, as the wisest sovereign that had ever sat on a throne, perhaps that of the British Nimrod would have been more appropriate. "My health," he would say, "is necessary for the state, the chase is necessary for my health; ergo, it is doing the public a service if I hunt." This logic from royal lips was irresistible, and his counsellors were compelled to take the field with him, in order to obtain a few minutes' conversation with their sovereign. One of these merry hunting mornings has thus been graphically described: "Bravely responding to the sharp sting of Ripon rowels' we seem to witness the pure-blooded iron-grey, that carried England's fortunes, dash onwards, to be again at the head of the field, which he had momentarily lost. Down the steep, along the valley, through the centre of its shallow river's bed, sweep onwards the gallant cavalcade, scattering the shingle with their horse's hoofs, and throwing up the water in broad glistening sheets. A bugle-note from some distant forester falls on the ear. The game's 'at soil.' Another five minutes' sweep round that elbow of the stream, and there stands our hart of grease,' knee-deep in the amber pond; his broad dun haunches firm against the lichencovered rock, his bearing antlers lowering from side to side, as the clustering hounds struggle and swim around him, straining their bloodshot eyes. The King, pleased, yet flushed and pale with excitement, his hunting garb soiled with mire and bog-water from spur to bonnet

plume, reins up just in time to witness the finish, for Bran and Buscar, Ringwood and Jewel' (prime leaders of the royal pack), have fastened upon the quarry's throat, and when the deer has been broken up, and whilst the foresters, all unbonneted, wind customary mort upon their bugles, our royal woodman is plunging his unbooted limbs in the beast's warm, reeking entrails; a practice invariably adopted by James, when. ever the deer was run down and killed."

This extraordinary panacea was recommended by the court physi cian, Sir Theodore Mayerne, as the "sovereigns't thing on earth," for those gouty and rheumatic twinges, which too emphatically reminded the Stuart in the autumn of his days, how "every inordinate cup is unblest, and the ingredient thereof a devil," though the warning produced no practical result.

So much was James enamoured of a sportsman's life, that great was his disgust when he heard that his brother-in-law, Christian, King of Denmark, who visited England in 1606, had spoken slightingly of English hunting in general, saying it was an amusement in which more horses were killed in jest, than in the Low-Country Wars were consumed in earnest, and the expletives he made use of were not in what is now termed Parliamentary language. "His majesty," writes Sir Dudley Carleton, already referred to, "having broken up the council rides straight to Royston, with all his hunting crew, a small train of forty persons, to have a flight with his hawks."

So overpowering and absorbing was the love of the chase in the reign of our first English King, of the Stuart race, that he kept up seven hunting establishments, at Royston, Hinchinbrooke, Theobalds, Windsor, Newmarket, Nonsuch, Hampton Court, with hounds for the chase in St. John's Wood, and the great forests stretching round Newington, and though passing a considerable portion of his time in the saddle, James was not a very skilful horseman, as may be gleaned from the number of falls he got. Every precaution was therefore resorted to, and among the "State Papers," we find the high-sheriff of Herts, Thomas Wilson, writing to the constables of Sandon, Ketshall, and other towns of the county, informing them of the "King's express commands that they give notice to occupants of arable land not to plough their fields in narrow ridges, nor to suffer swine to go abroad enraged, &c., to the endangerment of his Majesty and the Prince in hawking and hunting; they are also to take down the high bounds between lands which hinder his Majesty's ready passage."

It will thus be seen that no monarch that ever ruled over the destinies of England had a greater love of out-door and field sports than James the First. He was a mighty hunter, devoted to the turf, a great adept at hawking, and an admirable tennis player. The above amusements, gratifying as they were to the monarch, interfered very materially with the business of the nation. Whenever his ministers wanted to consult him upon any matter of sudden and particular importance, they had usually to seek him at Newmarket among the horses, or at Royston among his hounds. Mr. Edward Lascelles, in a letter to the Earl of Shrewsbury, tells an amusing story of a piece of practical satire that was played off on the King: it ran as follows: "There was one of the King's special hounds, called Jowler, missing one day. The King was much displeased that he was wanted notwithstanding, went a hunting,