purpose of riding Colonel Crowther's "Stopgap"; and when he casually mentions that he has backed the old screw for "a pony," I feel that my chance is indeed out. How I envy my former instructor's coolness, as, after weighing like a man whose whole life had been spent in doing nothing else, he swaggered off to superintend in person the saddling of the docile "Stopgap.' He never saw the horse before; yet, when he bounded lightly on his back, the animal bent his neck and played cheerfully with his bit, as though he recognized a master's hand, and can tered up the course with a long easy swing, that argued volumes in favour of Segundo's judgment. In the meantime I find myself divested. of the white great-coat, and furnished in lieu thereof with a saddle and stirrup-irons, of much the same pattern as those which caparisoned the rocking-horse of my juvenile days. I swing dizzily in the scale, and, thanks to Joe's judicious training, I am right to a pound. "Make haste, if you please, sir," says the Clerk of the Course, with a pen in his mouth, and a red book, like a tax-gatherer's, in his hand; "for there are three more gentlemen-riders to weigh." And as I leave the weighinghouse, in the custody of Squire Topthorne, I catch a glimpse of my fellow-sufferers. A stout yeoman, who has entered his own half-bred bay; a nondescript elderly man, that looks like a veterinary surgeon out of practice, and presents the anomaly of long grey hair streaming from under a black-velvet jockey-cap, and whose qualification to ride as a gentleman consists in his subscribing five pounds a year to the Pip. pingdon Hunt; and a tall, lanky youth, who, if not no v in a funk, must be at all times an individual of unnaturally pallid complexion, complete the field about to contend for the Great Hurricane Handicap. I walk up the course like a man in a dream—a peal of thunder is growling round the horizon, but I hear it not-the rain has set in, as only summer rain can; and a silk jacket, however gorgeous in colour, is but a poor protection for a wasted frame; yet I heed it not. Topthorne is descanting volubly upon the strategy by which I am to win the race; but his pithy sentences fall unheeded on my ear. One object alone rivets all my attention-one group of struggling figures have a morbid fascination for mine eye-a chesnut horse is plunging wildly forward, with a cloth about his head; whilst a trainer, a groom, and a boy are vainly endeavouring to saddle the refractory brute. That horse is Saraband; and on that saddle am I destined to embark! Topthorne's conversation seems to flow on, in an unconnected string of sentences, about" coming," and "going," and "waiting," and "staying," and "hugging the posts," and "living the distance," and, above all, not " disappointing the horse." How I wish I could disappoint him!--but it is too late now. The confused hum of voices plays soothingly on my ear, as I approach the spot where the chesnut horse is fidgetting; and, with that appreciation of trifles peculiar to moments of intense excitement, I remark a small piece of orange-peel on the turf, and wonder how much bigger it would require to be to throw a horse down. An iron gripe seizes me by the ankle-Topthorne's face is turned upward, towards mine-an elastic pair of shoulders lengthen themselves out in front of me-e--I am conscious that my reins are knotted extremely short, and that my mainstay, the trainer, has abandoned me to my own devices, and I feel that I am face to face with my fate. Great is my surprise to discover that the dreaded Saraband requires an immense deal of kicking along to induce him to extend himself in his preparatory canter, and that the infuriated horse who must be saddled blindfold and ridden by an equestrian Hercules may turn out the veriest slug after all. What is it but a beautiful arrangement of nature, proving the reciprocal fitness which exists between the biped and the brute, that causes a man, however nervous he may have previously been, to feel, when once settled in the saddle, a degree of courage rising within him proportionate to the occasion? Though Saraband gave me a taste of his eccentricities as he wheeled round to come up the course, and pulled and tore disagreeably enough directly his head was turned in the direction of his own stable, I felt so much more at home on him than I expected, that the reaction from a state of positive alarm to one of comparative confidence enabled me to take notice of all that was going on, and to scan, though with an inexperienced eye, the different competitors for the race. Segundo, who was good enough to compliment me on my sporting appearance as we rode together to the starting-post, was the only one that appeared dangerous; the farmer's horse was evidently fat, and looked, what he was, a good average hunter. The Vet's narrow, fiddle-headed weed was obviously over-trained; and the pale youth, though mounted on a racing-looking animal in excellent condition, was notoriously a muff of the first water. I had a sort of impression on my mind that Topthorne had told me my horse was more speedy than lasting, and I determined to take advantage of Segundo's knowledge and experience to wait upon him throughout the race and win at the finish if I could-a wise resolution, and one to which the only objection was the difficulty of carrying it out. What a business it was to start The hairdresser had a good idea. of how it ought to be done, and strutted about with his red flag in his hand in a most imposing manner; but the team he had to deal with were obstreperous to a degree, and it would have required a far more practised hand than the man of curling-irons to ensure to each his fair chance. First, the Vet would get too far forward, and had to be cautioned, not to say rebuked; then the farmer's horse dodged right across the pale young gentleman, who stared about him in utter helplessness. In the meantime Saraband backs out of the turmoil, and, standing bolt upright on his hind legs, is with difficulty persuaded to reenter the undisciplined ranks. When this is accomplished, a fresh disturbance breaks out with the boy. And, just at the moment when we are most hopelessly at sixes and sevens, the hairdresser loses all patience the flag drops-Saraband bounds forward into the air-my cap flies from my head-every man for himself—the devil take the hindmost-and we are off! us! (To be continued.) THE FRIENDS TO FOX HUNTING, BOTH GREAT AND SMALL. BY CECIL. "Etatem Priami Nestorisque Time passes swiftly on; and despite human inventions which enable mankind by the aid of steam to transport their bodies to distant climates with astonishing celerity, and their thoughts by the agency of electricity with still more wonderful velocity, yet time steals upon us with his wonted regularity. We have nearly arrived at the termination of the year; and when these lines meet the public eye we shall have entered upon the new one. Hail to the year 1852! To all good sportsmen may it be especially propitious, and all mankind have my best wishes for their happiness. The past has been an eventful year in truth, with the Exhibition to crown its notoriety: but that having closed is become a stale subject, interesting only for the reminiscences of events whereof it was the parent. Some men cavil with the times, or rather the changes which, through the uncontrollable course of nature, are continually taking place; but it is bad philosophy to do so. Horace has written "Etatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores;" but the manners of the age must be observed and practised as well as "noted," if man desires to participate in the benefits and enjoyments which this transitory world affords. The first portion of the year 1851 was unquestionably the most favourable for sylvan pastimes that has occurred within my memory, and I can trace my recollection as far back as 1817. Last season neither frost nor snow interfered with the operations of the foxhound, and scent was more than usually favourable-more than can be said of the present; besides which, even thus early there have been several frosts sufficiently hard to prevent hounds hunting, and I have not heard of any packs that have enjoyed their usual share of success. short, it has not been hunting weather. In Our lives would be spent with much more happiness and satisfaction if the reciprocating feelings of good fellowship were to prevail over selfishness, envy, and jealousy-the predominant feelings of ambitious tempers. If true self-interest be dispassionately considered, it must banish selfishness, between which there is a marked distinction; the former being a legitimate respect for whatever advances a man's welfare; the latter, an endeavour to attain his own projects without any respect for the benefit of his fellow men, and too frequently at the expense of other people's welfare. And thus a great portion of mankind are opposed to the overbearing individual who so extensively provokes his own mortifications. Maintained with a strict observance of the customs which have been adopted by those who really admire the sport, nothing in the way of a social amusement can equal fox-hunting as a naturally characteristic and nationally beneficial pursuit. It cultivates acquaintance, promotes friendship, and, when the chase is over, affords a source of delightfully interesting conversation. Nay, more: if the stern frowns of adversity appear where intimacy has been cemented through the recollections of bygone days spent in the hunting-field, an appeal for friendly interference is seldom made in vain. There is a freemasonry among sportsmen scarcely to be met with in any other class. No kingdom but England can boast of the same social condition, simply from the fact that no other nation enjoys a similar amusement, in which all classes may enthusiastically participate. But these sentiments must not lead to the conclusion that the present state of affairs is to be permanent, if principal members who profess to cherish fox-hunting promote its destruction by the infraction of rules which are its chief support. The facilities for travelling are very great, and fresh channels are daily opening. Enterprising sportsmen have opportunities of visiting foreign countries with very little more expense or bodily labour than what our ancestors incurred in repairing from London to Melton; and there is little doubt, as those opportunities increase, they will be accepted. Fox-hunting, it is true, will not be obtained; but the chase of animals even more wild in their natures will be substituted. With what sincere regret every real sportsman and well-wisher of the noble science must regard the very unfortunate difference which still exists respecting the privilege of hunting certain coverts, for a long period of time held by one of the most celebrated hunts in England! Annoying as such events are in the provincials, still they are much more so when a hunt of long standing becomes involved in contention. Every master of hounds, as the representative of his hunt, is entitled to enjoy his prescribed territory by usage, and the right once acquired ought to be regarded as inviolate. For my own part, I would not breathe a sentence that should in the slightest degree tend to fan the flame of contention ; on the contrary, I would use every effort in my power to produce conciliation. I am personally unacquainted with both parties, and so far it is a matter of total indifference to me; but the case is one upon which the voice of every sportsman, who has the welfare of fox-hunting infused in his blood, must be unanimous. The rules of hunting are perfectly well known; and if certain legal rights are enforced, which were established before fox-hunting became the amusement of gentlemen, all those conventional rules which they have subsequently agreed upon ard adopted, of course fall to the ground, and with them much of that social feeling upon which the prosperity of the chase is dependent. The demise of any country gentleman, who, by his kind, courteous manners has endeared himself to his acquaintance, and has otherwise rendered himself popular and beloved in his own neighbourhood, is invariably a source of painful regret; but where he has made himself "known to fame," that regret is of a far more extensive character. After having suffered from indisposition, and the infirmities usually attendant upon an advanced period of life, the venerable Sir John Cope, so well known as a master of fox-hounds, breathed his last on the 18th of November, at Bramshill House, having attained the good old age of eighty-three. The worthy baronet boasted a descent of considerable antiquity. Sir Anthony Cope, Knight of Hanwell, in Oxfordshire, was five times member of Parliament for Banbury, and in 1611 was created a baronet by James I. The succession does not appear to have been continued in a direct line; but through brothers, nephews, and cousins it descended, about fifty years since, to Sir Denzil Cope, brother to the late baronet, to whom the prospect of succession must have appeared remote, for on the demise of Sir John Mordaunt Cope in 1772, the baronetcy came to the third cousin, and from him to his nephew, Sir Denzil, as above, who, dying without issue in 1812, the title and estates devolved upon Sir John. These uncertain expectations led to the late baronet adopting the law as a profession, in which he distinguished himself by his very honourable and upright bearing. It is related that he was practising in London at the time of his brother's death, and perusing a deed when the intelligence reached him; upon which he threw down his pen and resigned his professional labours without delay. Previously to that event he had a small fortune left to him by an uncle, when he occasionally left the desk for the more pleasing and invigorating sports of the field; keeping a small stud of horses usually at Bicester, to hunt with the late Sir Thomas Mostyn, and occasionally appearing at Melton. Without acquiring much character as a sportsman at that period, he distinguished himself as a very daring and bruising rider. After his succession to the baronetcy and estates, Sir John Cope made his début in the racing world with a few horses of fair repute-among others, Turtle and Shoestrings. He won one of the cups at Goodwood, and several other races of interest, but did not continue long upon the turf. In 1810, Mr. St. John, a gentleman residing near Reading, kept some harriers, with which he identified himself as a sportsman; when, at the request of his friends and neighbours, he disposed of them, and established fox-hounds in their place. A pack, the property of the Duke of Bridgewater, being offered for sale at Tattersall's, Mr. St. John became the purchaser, and they formed the commencement of Sir John Cope's pack, being transferred to him in January, 1817. Mr. St. John at first hunted them himself, whipped-in to by Thomas Tocock, whom he subsequently advanced to the post of huntsman, and who went with the hounds to Sir John, in which engagement he continued fifteen years, when he was succeeded by the first whip, John Major, who only held that situation one season; when, in 1833, James Shirley was engaged by, and continued with, Sir John till the country was transferred to Mr. Wheble in 1850. Robert Tocock, the present huntsman, entered Sir John's service as covert lad, afterwards whipped-in to his father, and successively to the Duke of Grafton's hounds, the Worcestershire, and Mr. Musters' again returning to Sir John, he officiated under Shirley nine seasons. The south-eastern portion of country, which then became part of the Bramshill hunt, had been visited occasionally, that is when convenient, by the Old Berkeley, whose boundaries at a still more remote period might almost be termed unlimited, for they commenced at Gerard's Cross, in Buckinghamshire, twenty miles from London, and extended beyond Berkeley Castle, in Gloucestershire, comprising a distance approximating to something like one hundred miles. The foxes were not so abundant as in these days, and the pack was removed from one part to another, according to where the vulpine race were most numerous. |