general, quick, and pressing-they are hot upon her trail-and presently, out she skips, and away for her life-a fine hare to be sure-holla! a view-holla! True to the shout, the dogs are out of the thicket in a moment-down go their fatal noses to the ground-they catch the scent, and gaily they run, the whole pack setting up a full, loud, continuous cry, which rolls out upon the wind in a stream of pervading melody, that seems like the natural music of the hills. Have I a reader who has not heard this cry? Oh! let him rouse himself; life is short; let him not die in ignorance; Catalani will come to him; away then to Leicestershire, or Northumberland, or Cornwall,-any where but do let him hear this blithe field-song of the hounds. Sincerely, it is beautiful.

There is nothing violent and hurried in hare-hunting, like the first burst after a fox: the men of might, who ride close to the dogs or thereabouts, set off at an easy gallop, not more than agreeable to a horse of common powers; while the elders are seen edging away at a brisk walk for some neighbouring point, near which the hare will go, or ought to go, as they will prove unanswerably, should she venture to transgress the received rules and precedents. She generally returns to the seat from which she was put up, running, as all the world knows, in a circle, or something sometimes like it, we had better say, that we may keep on good terms with the mathematical. At starting, she tears away at her utmost speed for a mile or more, and distances the dogs half way; she then returns, diverging a little to the right or left, that she may not run into the mouths of her enemies-a necessity which accounts for, what we call, the circularity of her course. Her flight from home is direct and precipitate; but on her way back, when she has gained a little time for consideration and stratagem, she describes a curious labyrinth of short turnings and windings, as if to perplex the dogs by the intricacy of her track. These are her usual proceedings, though they are liable to many innovations, depending, among other causes, upon the temperature of the scent, which, as it varies the activity of the dogs, will often vary the move

ments of the hare. But these are distinctions to be sufficiently explained only in the field. "She'll come back here," said I: "What!" replied old Martin, “ with the wind at east?" and I was silenced.

The hounds, whom we left in full cry, continue their music without remission as long as they are faithful to the scent; as a summons, it should seem, like the seaman's cry, to pull together, or keep together; and it is a certain proof to themselves and their followers that they are in the right way. On the instant that they are "at fault," or lose the scent, they are silent, and the whole pack immediately disperse and scour over the ground, that they may nose out their game again. When their mouths become mute, however, their tails begin to speak, and explain, as they wag, with the eloquence of words, their eagerness and impatience: as long as these are in motion there is hope; when they settle into stillness, all is lost. There are five or six dogs in the pack of known sagacity and experience, who are looked up to by the rest, in all circumstances of embarrassment, for counsel and direction. If some ignorant puppy, of no name or nose, presumes to state his opinion in a doubtful case, in some light inconsequential speech, nobody thinks of attending to it, except the huntsman, perhaps, with his reproving whip; but if the unerring Trollop, or old Jowler, set up their decisive voices, the challenge is answered by every mouth in the pack; a simultaneous rush is made to the spot, the scent is recovered, and all is life and action once more.

These "faults" are very frequent occurrences, and, if they are not too much prolonged, rather aid the interest of the sport than otherwise, inasmuch as they call forth all the varied instincts of the dogs and their game, and bring into exercise the most hidden knowledge, and the nicest discrimination, of the sportsmen. I speak only from my own feelings on the subject, and it is proper to acknowledge that, in the general opinion, a "fault" is a fault. The weather, in its impression on the scent, is the great father of "faults;" but they may arise from other accidents, even when the day is in every respect favourable. The intervention of

ploughed land, on which the scent soon cools or evaporates, is at least perilous; but sheep-stains, recently left by a flock, are fatal; they cut off the scent irrecoverably, making a gap, as it were, in the clue, in which the dogs have not even a hint for their guidance. These dicta of mine are meant to apply only to our own particular "hunt;" other packs, in differently conditioned countries, have, no doubt, "faults" of their own, which I know nothing about. Non omnia, &c.

An hour and a half may be stated as the average duration of a chase, with all its interruptions, in which time the hare may run ten or twelve miles; but if the scent is strong, and she is closely pressed, she may come to her death in considerably less time, after running a much greater distance. At the latter end of the season, in February and March, the hares become exceedingly wild, and run with all the vigour and determinacy of a fox, justifying the wellknown comparative, 66 as mad as a March hare." We have it on record, safe for our posterity, that on the 13th of February, 1822, a hare, put up by old Martin himself, led us a chase of twenty-five miles, in which she ran through seven-wasn't it seven, Mr. Stace? yes, seven parishes, swam across a river, and back again, and finally made her escape, leaving dogs, and horses, and men breathless, and worn out behind her. But I am too talkative by half, and they always said so of me in the field. We started, I think, from Norton-Top: suppose then, after the usual rounds, that you see the hare at last (a sorry mark for so many foes) sorely beleaguered-looking dark and draggled and limping heavily along; then stopping to listen-again tottering on a little-and again stopping; and at every step, and every pause, hearing the death-cry grow nearer and louder. At this period the sternness of my purpose would relent: I was always inclined to say, like Macbeth, "we will proceed no further in this business," and would willingly have given the little animal a kinder reward than awaited her, for the amusement that she had afforded me. But it might not be: the dogs rush in upon her and seize her -the horsemen gallop up-cut away

with their whips-hold up the game

and the cry is dead! dead! dead! There might happen to be no horseman near at this moment; in which case, the hare, bones, skin, and all, would in a few seconds be divided, and swallowed amongst the hounds, no signs being left but the stains of blood upon their jaws. But so disgraceful a casualty as this was rare indeed under the reign of our vigilant and active commander. I loved to see him always at this crowning scene of our sport. He would seize the hare, and throw it at his feet, to indicate its death to the dogs, who, looking up at him, and baying and howling, would cluster in a circle round him, keeping precisely at whip's length from the centre, or their master-our father-sportsman, who stood like a conqueror-his venerable face suffused all over with a placid triumph, which it was impossible not to sympathise with. Presently he would prepare for his last offices to the hare on this side the dish. Diving into the depths of his capacious breeches-pocket- the right pocket-whose hard contents were plainly mapped out in grease and dirt on the outside-he would pull forth his knife of all work-deliberately open it make the right incision, tear out the entrails of the animal, and dash them among the dogs-at the same time, with insidious and crimsoned finger (for he loved a joke), widening the mouth of some staring shepherd-boy, who would be standing at his elbow. Poor old Martin! Not two months ago, I saw him doing, looking, joking, just as I have described him. Peace be with you, my old friend! your good deeds-generous--charitable were not few; and if to love a drizzly morning three days in a week be no sin, you can have little to answer for.

COURSING.

This is a gentle exercise, not unfriendly to a sunny morning-hunting fit for a lady-indeed, the dogs employed seem made on purpose for the ladies. The greyhound, I think, is the most beautiful animal in the world-beautiful, not only from its graceful lines and perfect symmetry, but from the palpable expediency of its frame in all its parts, as a thing of speed. The powers of other brutės are not obvious till they are disco

érs.

vered to us in action; but a single glance at the greyhound, even in repose, assures us that its business is to run. There is no other animal, that I know of, so entirely dependent for its prey on swiftness of foot; and there is none in which nature has provided for this single attribute with so cautious and delicate a hand. In comparing the greyhound with other dogs, it is curious to observe, while it preserves all their generic distinctions, the numerous and minute deviations that occur in every division of its structure, adapted to the particular destination of its powIts small pointed head; its long, light, fleshless body, the curved and flexible spine acting with the force of a spring; its long, sinewy, tapering legs; its close, thin skin, unencumbered with a wrinkle or a hair that could be spared-all these are peculiarities that distinguish it from every other dog, and are all speakingly in aid of one design. Even the pendulous, cord-like tail, that seems to steal along after the animal, without a movement to waste, is full of appropriate character. The creature seems to have no bowels; the yawning, hungry vacuum in their place being objected to by some solid judges as unsightly; though, with all deference, I think it a beauty, if not in itself, in its combination with the general structure of the dog, and the whole meaning of its expressive figure. Any other dog, so thin in all respects, would be full of clumsy protuberances, and appear uncouth and death-like; but the greyhound, a mere skeleton in a skin, cushioned only with a few tense, springy muscles about the loins and shoulders, which you may count like the ribs, has yet not a sharp point or hard angle about it; its finely-turned mechanism presenting only a series of gentle bends and wavy lines, a perfect model of shapeliness and elegance.

legs, vainly striving for play in a narrow circle round you! if it should not happen to prefer, which it often does, a kiss, placing its paws upon your shoulders, and bringing you nose to nose, were you as tall as the Irish giant. It is an interesting sight to see them in the field, before they are uncoupled for the course, all their energies alive and struggling for action. I have noticed them particularly when sitting upon their haunches, so tall and so prim-their fore-legs stiffened out, and lifting them up like two slender columns-their necks arched, their ears erect, and their eyes eagerly following the distant horsemen. If a greyhound were to sit for its portrait, this should be the moment. No man of any manners would think of speaking to a greyhound as he would to any other dog: even their rude grooms think it necessary to temper their familiarity to them with a select language, and a tone of becoming softness. "What, Miss Sweetlips!" I heard a fellow say to a cream-coloured, satinskinned lady, that kept whining and fretting, as she sat perked up beside him; "are you for a hare this morning-and would you foul this fine nose of yours with blood? eh! you baggage?"—just as one might notice some pretty wickedness in a capricious beauty in petticoats. Blood has an ill sound; but there is nothing fierce or ravenous about them, nevertheless-nothing beyond a sprightly animation-a hunter's spirit, that rejoices rather in the hills and free air, and the chase, than thirsts for slaughter. Their thin bodies are exceedingly susceptible of cold, and, in a state of inaction, cannot resist the sharpness of the winter's wind without a convulsive shuddering. Some sportsmen, with not more tenderness than is decent, provide them with body-cloths, in which they are enveloped till it is their turn to run; and they of coarser feelings, who might laugh at the notion of supplying the pretty creatures with their pelisses, should, at least, place them, till they are wanted, under the lee of a hedge or a cornstack, or any shelter that might be at hand. They would run the better for such care, they may depend upon it.

There is a gentleness in the disposition of this beautiful animal that is quite in harmony with the delicacy of its form. It approaches you with a timid, crouching fondness, to be daunted by a look, unless you would encourage it to rapture by a word, and then,-Oh! the fantastical gambols-the kangaroo-like jumps, the wild careering of its three-league

As the greyhound has no gift of

her-the sound of their panting is never out of her ears, and allows her not the pause of a moment for a hope of deliverance. An idea may be formed of the success with which the little animal exerts herself in this desperate conflict, from the fact, that in a whole day's coursing, at which I was present, with twelve couple of dogs, each couple of which had, at least, one fair course, only three hares were killed.

The greyhounds have no notion of stopping at the cover when they see the hare enter; but, still confident in their legs, keep sweeping on, till the continued non-appearance of their game checks their spirit, when they stand staring about them in a stupid puzzle, as if wondering how they should possibly have been left behind. Though quite without resource, they will stand for a long time before they give up all hope, in defiance of whistling and hallooing; till at last, with many a lingering look they drag themselves away, and return at a snail's space, dispirited and abashed, to their keepers. There are greyhounds who are criminal enough, when the hare is put up, not to follow her, but to repair with all haste at once to her cover, and there wait to receive her. This is called "running cunning," and is not considered fair play—fair enough, perhaps, as between the dogs and the hare, but a direct fraud against the amusement of the sports

men.

Coursing altogether is but a dull business. The actual run is a scene of very anxious interest; but the want of variety and continuous action in the sport makes it very tiresome to those who have followed the harriers or the fox-hounds. There is not exercise enough to keep the blood in motion: the game lies entirely between the dogs and the hare, stripped of the great attraction of all hunting-the competition of horses and riders. I have seen the sport in some perfection too; our downs having been visited the other day by a grand party from London, profound breeders, who came down with a cartload of dogs, on purpose to prove to us that we in the country here know nothing about a greyhound. Willing to reap all sorts of profit from their dogs, they "backed" them with cer

tain sums against any booby mongrels that we could bring against them. The farmers, however, with all their inexperience, contrived to win all the money. The dogs of the Londoners, not to bear malice, were of a fine breed, and in the highest condition; but being accustomed to run in a level country, they could not contend against our long hills, and the vigour and activity of the hares bred upon them. These persons are looked upon in the country rather in the light of dog-fanciers than sportsmen. Their half-crown bets are very town-bred, and betray a spirit that has nothing to do with the true inspiration of the field. They had one individual with them, whom I cannot refrain from mentioning a little more at length-a Cockney all over-who was present at a hunt, on this occasion, for the first time in his life. I shall never forget him, I hope. His dress was charmingly characteristical, and, without other introduction, expounded him to every one in a moment. The day was bitterly cold; and all of us, save this stranger, were buttoned up to the chins in good fearnought drab coats, that effectually kept out the weather, and looked as if they did so. The appearance was altogether comfortable, and quite in season. The Cockney appeared in a green coat, puffed and puckered at the shoulders-very short, with the skirts pared away into a delicate swallow-tail, exposing more than his hips behind-a slight linen waistcoat without buttons, or with only three or four, the space between the stomach and neck opening freely, to give egress to a flaunting frilltight, white, cotton breeches (I speak the bare truth)-kerseymere leggings-pumpish looking shoesand a fur cap. The costume surely was perfect. He was, as may be supposed, very speedily penetrated bone-deep by the cold, though, to do him justice, he made no complaint, except by the chattering of his teeth, and certain involuntary and St. Vitus-like movements that would be taking place now and then in various parts of his body. There was nothing very observable in his mode of riding, only that he turned his knees and toes out like a dancing master, by which act he had a