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Imprimis-Each man should keep a cher amie and horses without limitation; he should give good and sufficient proof of being able to recite a set speech when labouring under no greater incorvenience than three bottles were calculated to produce. On club-nights they sat down to supper in hunting costume, and never rose until the hacks were brought to the door on which to proceed to covert, the meet then being at daybreak. Hence the song

"Leading wicked and sinful lives,
Keeping misses and no wives,
Going where the devil drives,

Live the Rakes of Marlow."

But hounds and clubs will have their hours of adversity as well as individuals. The hounds passed into other hands, and with their change of owners their glory and their greatness departed. Troublesome times then came on the game was changed from quadrupeds to bipeds, and croppies were more pertinaceously hunted than was the fox of erst. Years passed by, and the club was broken up by the united exertions of Bailiffs and Apoplexy-the Dhuhallows became as things that had neither a "local habitation or a name," and fox-hunting was on the point of taking the benefit of the act. However, the adage, that it is always darkest before day, was in this instance verified; they were offered to be handed over to a properly appointed club. The suggestion was at once acted on; a meeting of the gentry was called, subscriptions were poured in in abundance, and the management was accepted by Robert Delacour, Esq., of Fairyhill, the son-in-law of their old proprietor. From this point matters assumed a more cheerful aspect-the very hounds began to feel a respect for themselves, and gradually withdrew their tails from between their legs until they gained their proper elevation. They were all of the old Irish foxhound breed-a species of dog not to be surpassed for nose, courage, and endurance, and the best blood in England was procured to be crossed with them; the consequence of which judicious measure was, that in a few years they rivalled their former greatness. They were fortunate in being under the care of one of the best huntsmen that ever threw hounds into covert; and those who remember poor Jerry Mullan, who fell an early victim to his only failing-a love of whiskey, will not be inclined to contradict my statement. Never had man a more thorough knowledge of the materials he had got to work upon-a more exquisite judgment to help his hounds when at fault, or a more daring spirit to ride across a country, which to those to whom a Leicestershire ox fence appears the ne plus ultra of jumping, would prove a complete slapper. Methinks I see him on his bay runaway mare, whom nobody could ride but himself, going along, looking neither to the left or to the right, lest they carry the scent one inch a-head without his knowing it. Were I to enumerate all his hair-breadth escapes, and extraordinary jumps, I should fill a volume; and Jerry's leap over Carrig Park demesne wall, with a sheer descent of fourteen feet, is still pointed out by the peasantry. Peace be to thy shade, poor Jerry! may the earth rest light upon thee! Since their regular establishment, they have had the usual alterna

tions of good and bad seasons, but I am informed have been very successful these last two winters, having had a capital hunt almost every day on which they met, and which I may as well here mention is twice a week-namely, Wednesdays and Saturdays. The corps de chassé consists of a huntsman (William Yelin), and two whippersin, and about forty couple of hounds. The kennel is well situated, on rather high ground, so that it is perfectly free from damp; and kennel lameness, a friend writes me, is unknown. It is in a good centre, and all the most remote coverts are equidistant from it; some are so very far, many being 17 or 18 English miles off, that the hounds have to be sent on the day previous to some neighbouring gentleman's place, where they are accommodated. I think I have now fairly discharged the first part of my engagement, and have given all requisite information about the hounds; the remainder of this paper shall be devoted to "the men that ride to 'em."

Now then, kind reader, if you be complaisant enough, transport yourself (in imagination I mean) across the Irish Channel, and take your position with me at a meet with a name too unpronounceable for English tongues: time, eleven o'clock; and season, early in the spring, when hounds and horses are in trim to go. Look at those seventy or eighty nags that are being led up and down by those men of fustian; a light sheet, or mayhap an oil-skin is thrown over each to protect the saddle from the thin mist peculiar to the climate. See how the roads on all sides are alive with gigs, taxed carts, &c., some tandemed, some solo, perhaps a stray four-in-hand, but this is only occasionally. Mackintoshed and overalled riders of hacks drop in by short cuts, who soon break into knots and discuss the probability of a run. In that off corner of the field, the huntsman and whippers are trotting in a circle, with the pack at their heels, to prevent their being chilled; and ever and anon, some old hound stops to roll himself, a sign by no means liked by the experienced seniors. But who, you ask me, are those half-dozen heavy men, who congregate together, and separate themselves from the smaller fry. All men of weight I tell you, and as staunch and true as ever wedded doe skin to pig skin; all have figured at Melton, and there did their duty like" good-uns," for the honour of their country. Name them, sayest thou. Aye, that I will, right willingly. That gentleman who fronts you-whose face is beaming with the very essence of benevolence, and whose coat bears tokens of many a wellcontested field-is John Wrexon, a good man, and one whom few ever had the honour of showing their horses' tail to, and who never turned his back upon his friends but when the hounds were going; that is his mare-the brown one with the silver mane and tail—and a better, man need never desire. Beside him is Kilner Brasier, who is but a trifle above 16st., yet he always contrives to be thereabouts, and no mistake; now mark well the large black horse, which a servant is holding near him-that's his nag, and a more extraordinary animal never before met your glance; saw you ever more bone and muscle, trength and symmetry, combined together? If practice makes perect, he ought to be unequalled, for he is long out of his " teens," and yet a nastier one to beat the field does not hold: look how proudly the

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noble animal arches his neck-what fire there is in his eye-how keenly he anticipates the coming chace! The others are Sir W. Beecher, and Messrs. Courtney and Stowell. Amongst that cantering crew of "light ones," there is not a man but does his best to go, and thinks of nothing but a lead, until his nag has got his quantum suff., and deposits his rider in some well-filled ditch. Well, if I must particularize and name a few from out of the many, there are Messrs. Purcell, W. Stawell, Crone, Montgomery, Russell; Hon. Hayes St. Leger, Sir Richard de Burgho, and many others, as the auctioneer's puff hath it, too numerous to mention. What causes this delay? Watches are being pulled out, and see the hour's a quarter, and the covert a good mile off. Ah, here he comes with "hot, spurring, and fiery haste." He has been to see some distant earths all right, and well accounts for the delay. He waves his hand, and now the pack moves on. "Now, gentlemen, get upon your steeds and let them know who is on them; brace up your nerves, for I tell you there's work before you that will require them tightly screwed."

At last we are at the covert, and in the hounds are thrown. Old Blackstone whimpers. "Hark at him, my darlings," is now the cry. "Now then, gentlemen, give him room to break somewhere," shouts the master; his words are drowned in one tremendous cry from all the pack, as thus they testify their savage joy. Tally! there he goes, stealing along that old ditch like a felon as he is. I'll not shout yet until he's fairly off-ay, now he's far enough. Tally! tally ho! Now for a start! "Please don't ride into my pocket, sir, the fence is large enough for all." Hark! now they're at him; and we must put our best leg foremost, for the pace is awful. Double ditches are now disposed, and five feet walls are now set at nought. On, on we go, through "bush, bank, and scour"-and bless us, how precious select the field is getting! Rouse yourself, old nag; awhile ago you were pulling hard enough-where's all your pulling now? Well! that's a rasper a-head; but there's no choice, so at it we must go. Now steel and whalebone play your part! He rises-bang-I'm killed. Oh Lord! my breath is knocked out quite. So 'tis blown you are, you brute-a curse upon all cock-tails; and then I mount, and lie by for a check. It happens luckily for me-up I comethree minutes' breathing time-and again we set to work with pipes fresh filled. "Kissing your mother," says one, observing my wellmudded coat-" Only taking farms," says another; and thus I run the gauntlet, and answer not.

The fox is making for a well-known haunt; his last night's stolen meal retards him sadly; he despairs, and almost feels the pangs of death, when a sewer discloses its friendly refuge, and into it he hastes. The baffled hounds come up, and vent their futile cries. "What a shame," says one. Four miles in seventeen minutes is not so bad, say I, and make my bow.

This is a description of a burst the author had, the only day he hunted with them last year.

ON TRAINING THE RACE-HORSE.

BY COTHERSTONE.

"The wise for cure on exercise depend,

God never made his work for man to mend."

CHAPTER VII.

EXERCISE.

In selecting this quotation from Dryden, it is for the purpose of comparison, and not with a concurrence of the sentiment conveyed in the last line. The first sets forth a principle which cannot be too closely followed; but the latter, if true, would overturn even one of the most infallible precepts which we read in scripture-that man shall earn his daily bread by the sweat of his brow. Many subjects which serve to prove the incorrectness of the assumption come under our observation daily, and, with others, that of preparing any animal for active and laborious exertions, claims our notice. If it were correct, the labours of the agriculturist would be unnecessary; they would not be compelled to earn their bread "by the sweat of their brow;" we should simply be content to subsist upon the wild fruits of the earth, and the life of man would be a series of monotonous indolence.

The art of the trainer would be totally unnecessary, because the horse in his natural state would be equal, if not superior, in point of speed and power, to what he is when the utmost skill is exemplified. This we know to be incorrect: moderate labour conduces to the preservation of health, both in man and beast: and for the purpose of enduring great bodily fatigue at any particular period it requires to be increased, and to be conducted with care and discretion. It is by the proportion of labour or exercise that the condition of the horse is improved beyond his powers when in a state of nature; it is the exact proportion which calls forth the skill and experience of the superintendent; and on this nice point the question turns, whether the animal will be able to acquit himself to the utmost of his physical ability or not.

"The man

Is yet unbern who duly weighs an hour."

Our forefathers might deserve the credit of being very industrious if early rising was the criterion, for they were in the habit of taking their horses out to exercise as soon as it was light, and indeed frequently

before the sun had fairly risen; as to the propriety of such a course it becomes important to enquire, because the custom is now completely changed. That there is an invigorating freshness in the morning air just as Sol exhibits his benign countenance on the commencement of a fine day, cannot be denied, but there are times when this break of day is intensely cold, and should the wind proceed from the north or the east there is not much salubrity in the atmosphere; therefore, every animal whose system is in such an excitable condition as that of a race-horse in work, is better sheltered from its effects. If fine mornings only could be selected, I would venture to recommend those periods as the most eligible for horses to do their work; but this climate is susceptible of so many changes as to render such an attempt incompatible with the regularity essentially necessary in the economy of a well regulated training-stable. Not, however, let it be supposed by this mode of expression I mean to apply only to extensive establishments; the same order, punctuality, and attention, is required to train one horse as to train twenty, and whenever it is relaxed the neglect will manifest itself in some way or other; this insurmountable obstacle, therefore, prohibits a horse from going out at half-past four or five on one morning, and at eight on the succeeding one. Nevertheless, when the weather in May or June sets in very warm, an early hour is certainly the most desirable time for exercise, providing the elements are in that state of equality to afford a reasonable supposition that a succession of fine mornings will permit it as a daily practice for a few weeks. During the spring, autumn, and winter, half-past eight or nine o'clock is early enough; by that hour the sun has acquired some influence, the atmosphere is rarefied by its effects, and is in a more genial state to supply the lungs with its vital principles than when a morbid fog is ascending from the earth. In some situations these morning exhalations are exceedingly unhealthy; it cannot, therefore, be consistent during their predominancy to expose an animal to their ill effects, whose most delicate organ, the lungs, is supplied by that element with the pabulum of life; more especially when that member is constantly solicited to perform its utmost functions. At all seasons of the year a fine healthy coat is an important attribute in any horse when he is at work, especially in a race-horse; but that cannot be preserved if he is exposed to a cold air; and, however warmly he may be clothed, it will not avail if a cold, north-easterly blast is suffered to inflict its ravages. The quantity or duration of exercise must be regulated by circumstances, and in this consists the distinction between work and absolute rest; exercise is necessary to the maintenance of health, and is likewise required to restore it. Nature, as in every other similar event, is the safest and best monitor.

"Of ancient sages proud to tread the steps,

I follow nature. Follow nature still."

The morbid action of the intestines, which is frequently produced by too much exertion, will very often be removed by moderate exercise, and on this account it is highly necessary to attend to the condition of the evacuations; the utmost degree of nourishment is not obtained

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