Once more, and at the same spot, the fox broke from the verge of the gorse; but now, without dwelling for a moment, made the best of his way over the wide grass enclosure bounding the cover, and with his white-tagged brush held out stiff and straight, rattled away at a pace which practically announced his resolution of living as long as he was able.

"He's a flying fox," cried the owner of the hog-maned bob-tailed grey; and they must ride, who would see the end of what he'll show them."

"Gone aw-a-ay!" hallooed he of the lisp and the drawl, in a remarkably soft and flute-like voice.

Loud, and long enough almost to wake the past generation of powdered, pomatumed, and pig-tailed foxhunters, the huntsman touched his horn, and jammed his way through the brake just as three couple and a-half of old leading hounds down with their noses and hit upon his line. Twing, twing, twang, twing, twa-a-a-ng, went the horn.

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'For'ard, for'ard!" cried the whipper-in, cracking his heavy doublethong in the rear, and making the tail-hounds fly before him.

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His point is Sproxton Thorns," shouted a voice by way of a tit-bit of special information.

"What a lengthy, clean fellow he is!" remarked an observer, shading his eyes with a hand, and watching the fox rattling away in view.

In a far more compact body than of yore, and with heads up and tucked-in haunches, as if prepared to make strong running, the hounds settled to their fox, and rattled him along at a pace which would have astonished the pig-tails.

"Don't over-ride 'em," shouted the M. F. H. "Let them get at him."

And at him they went, as straight down wind as a bird could fly.

To get well away with hounds began to be understood as indispensable so those who coveted the distinction of living in front. The pace became too good for a mistake to be corrected in losing a few priceless moments at the beginning of a fast run, and it was now that the authorative mandate of the master was heard restraining the eagerness of the field to get too close to hounds at the burst,

For twenty minutes, "by Shrewsbury clock," not a check occurred or obstacle presented itself to head or turn the fox from his point. Towards a strong cover looming in the distance and hoped-for open earth, he went by the most direct of lines, as straight as could be ruled on parchment; and as he reached Sproxton Thorns, certain lungs evinced decided symptoms of distress, and certain closely-trimmed bob-tails shook like aspen leaves in a more than usually strong wind.

"A pretty burst!" said the owner of the grey, coming to a standstill, and entertaining a large share of self-satisfaction at having given a full view of his back to the rest of the field from the find to this point. "A pretty burst!" repeated he.

"Y-e-s," replied he with the drawl and the lisp, not on equally good terms with himself for having failed to reach the grey's head, notwithstanding a liberal allowance of persuasive appliances.

In vain the earth was tried, for the previous night the earthstopper's spade had clicked among the adjacent pebbles, and the entrance secured against the ingress even of a mouse. Foiled of purpose, but still far

from disposed to yield, the fox ran through Sproxton Thorns with the hounds in a body close at his brush, and their hackles bristling for a kill.

"Ride, now, as you like," cried the M. F. H. in an exuiting, bantering tone. "Over them, if ye can."

"Nothing can live with them to-day," soliloquized the owner of the grey, as that gallant animal stuck in the middle of a bullfinch, and, without an effort to release himself, conformed to the laws of gravitation by gradually sinking to the ground, and leaving his quarters in the ditchon the near side of which he attempted to clear the difficulty-and his head on the bank.

"I shall see no more of this," dolefully said the owner of the grey, watching with intense envy him with the drawl and the lisp sweep by in a form-under the circumstances-of a truly-tantalizing character. A shaft, however, fresh-pulled from the quiver of Fate made a more favourable hit in the destiny of the owner of the hog-maned closetrimmed bob-tailed grey.

At this juncture it so occurred that a yeoman mounted on a young, powerful, and promising horse, pulled up at the spot where the grey continued in the grief into which he had fallen, and proffered his assistance. "Let him lie there, and be buried, for what I care," was the vexed reply. "I shall see no more of them to-day,"

"My 'oss will carry you well, sir," rejoined the yeoman. "Throw your leg over 'm," continued he, dismounting. You're more than welcome to 'm."

"'Pon my honour!" exclaimed the owner of the grey, preparing to take advantage of the opportunity; "'pon my honour," repeated he, you 're a noble fellow! Perhaps you'll sell him?"

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Ay, ay," returned the yeoman, assisting the owner of the grey into the pigskin. "See how he carries ye first. There, doant old 'm too tight. Give 'm his head, and you'll soon be with 'm again. I'll take care o' this baked-un in the meantime."

Strictly complying with the directions given, the owner of the grey, now mounted on a chestnut, sailed once more to the front, and as he gave the go-by to him with the drawl and the lisp, a twinge of jealously acted with sympathetic influence upon the movement of the rowels of his spurs.

"A fresh horse," muttered he. "I hope he will soon pump him out as clean as the other."

This hope, however, did not appear likely to be realized, for the chestnut went with that long, lurching, easy stride, and cleared his fences in such form as to leave no doubt but that his powers to stay in front were quite equal to those of bringing him into that conspicuous position.

Over the hill, then with a dip into the valley beneath; across the level, and away through field, copse, and spinny, the fox fley at a pace rarely equalled, and in the times referred to-never surpassed. Fortyfive minutes without a check brought every horse to a standstill, save the yeoman's chestnut, which proved the solitary exception of still going in his glory alone in a style that announced "Be with them I can, and be with them I will."

Although not in view, the eye of a sportsman would have detected

instantly that, from the peculiar running of the hounds, they were conscious of getting close to their fox.

Whatever changes may take place in the scent in the course of a single run, and however difficult it may be to define any certain rules by which the state of the atmosphere or ground influence its variations, hounds invariably know when they are about to run into their fox, and this in the absence of a view of the sinking one, or a halloo announcing the proximity of his position-can only be learned through their wonderful olfactory nerves. How it is they generally know that he is down, and begin to look for him when unable, from some mysterious cause, to hunt the line up to the spot where he crouching lies concealed, has frequently puzzled the brains of "a shrewd philosopher, anxious for every why to give a wherefore." All that can be said upon the subject is, that such is the truth, unaccountable and hidden as may be the cause. The snowy tag of his brush just flashed over the ridge of some rising ground, when the hounds, racing now with little noise, streaked up the hill, with heads up and tucked-in haunches; and a couple of the leading ones getting a view of the sinking one at the bottom of the slope, as he crept into a small spinny, at him they went like greyhounds for the kill. One hour and five minutes without a check," said the rider of the chestnut, glancing at the dial of his watch, after placing the brush and pads in the pockets of his coat, and slinging the head of the fox in his handkerchief at the cantle of his saddle.

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Henceforth" second horses" became the vogue.

ANGLING REMINISCENCES OF A "LONG VACATION."

BY

WANDERER.

On the 28th of May, 1842, I mounted the box-seat, for securing which I gave a shilling to an ostler, at the Hoop Hotel, Cambridge, and took my departure for Weedon. The scenery through which we passed in Northamptonshire appeared to the best advantage, after the flat country of Cambridgeshire, which, however prized by the farmer in an agricultural point of view, is certainly not entitled to the epithet of picturesque. At Weedon, my luggage, consisting of a portmanteau and hat-box, were deposited in the railway van, while my knapsack accompanied myself in a first-class carriage, and a wire-haired terrier was dragged and pushed into a dog-box. My canine companion by no means enjoyed his first railway trip, and he continued to yelp and howl in his black hole; his unmelodious whinings becoming very audible when the noise of the engine stopped at a station, and occasionally admitted more dogs to solitary confinement. At Derby I completed my steam journey for the present, and Rodney was permitted to alight, after his prolonged incarceration, and became

somewhat troublesome, pulling at his chain, and twisting it round people's legs, in his eagerness to scrape acquaintance with his species. I slept at Derby, and Rodney was given in charge to an ostler, who took care of him for the night.

On the following morning we started together by coach, and, after a beautiful drive through very romantic scenery, reached the clean little town of Bakewell, famed for the rich puddings which bear its name, and the good accommodation of its hotel, which is much frequented by anglers.

The river Wye, which flows through the village, abounds with trout and grayling of good size, the angler being prohibited from retaining a fish under nine inches in length. The water is extremely pellucid, and consequently requires fine tackle, a light hand, and a respectful distance from the bank, to ensure success. There were two houses at Bakewell kept by Mr. Greaves (who is still, I believe, the landlord)-one in the centre of the village; the other, more private, and especially calculated for families, with a pretty garden, opening immediately on the river. The charges were five shillings and sixpence per day for board and lodging; the sleeping accommodation was excellent, the living equally good, including fish, flesh, and fowl, and sweets and puddings enough to frighten those not possessed of very strong digestive powers. Of course, when I say that the above charge includes everything, wine, beer, or spirits are excepted. Men's appetites, as regards food, may be pretty well calculated; but their potations become a private matter, to be calculated and paid for only by the individual.

At these comfortable quarters, the Rutland Arms, I stopped for five weeks, having agreed to make a tour in the North of England and Scotland with a brother-gownsman and a member of my own college. I wished to start at once after the May term; but my valued friend and college chum, Charley could not tear himself from the gaieties of a London season, and dashed straight into the vortex, while I paid small boys to catch Mayflies, with which I wandered alone, killing trout and grayling, and wishing Parliament prorogued and balls annihilated.

I had very good sport during my stay at Bakewell, although I might have had better by persevering with the green drake; but I must confess that, although a most killing lure, the natural fly, or, indeed, anything approaching to what is termed in Scotland "the bait," is too troublesome and tedious for me, and I am always glad to he at my feathered gear again. My practice during my stay at Bakewell was to "bob" away with the poor fluttering and ephemeral creature during the heat of the day, to return to an early dinner, and turn out with the artificial fly in the evening; and thus I generally managed to show as good a creel as those who fagged all day with long rod, impaling fresh green drakes every quarter of an hour. There was one most persevering brother of the angle, who, in about three weeks, killed, I heard, four hundred trout and grayling with the natural fly. He was very fond of this particular branch of the art, and consequently, from long practice, excelled. I cannot say I ever had any conversation with him, and I met with no one who had. He was of an extremely taciturn disposition, and appeared to me one

of those men who wished to keep all his sayings and doings to himself. This silent angler was daily accompanied by his wife, with a camp-stool, seated upon which she read a book, or did some fancywork, occasionally watching the indignant flourishes of a captured fish ere he was committed to the creel, after which, without remark, she plied the needle or assumed her book, and occasionally moved her collapsing stool, as her imperturbable husband wended his way slowly along the bank. For some days I almost fancied that this "constant pair" never spoke even to each other; but the delusion vanished when I heard her say, "It's off now," after detaching her husband's hook from her shawl. I passed this extraordinary couple daily, and I never was asked what sport I had, nor did I ever put the same question to a man who seemed wrapped up in himself and his fish. I heard that he was very jealous of seeing anyone on the water; and I think he had ample room to exercise his disposition, as I became disgusted myself at the little horde of anglers who came from Liverpool and Manchester and all parts of her Majesty's dominions, not only to catch, but to scare the fish. Flies were exhibited to the finny tribe, of all colours and of all dimensions, from the size of a midge to a hornet, thrown in all ways, " from grave to gay, from lively to severe." Some lighted gently, scarcely breaking the surface; while others went in with a plunge and splash like a Calais oyster. All sorts of men and fishing-gear might be seen upon those banks; unpliant bamboo rods were trying to become elastic; bloated beetles, from London, fell with a splash in the limestone water; every artificial contrivance was "weighed in the balances and found wanting;" thin boots were treading wet grass, while gay-patterned waistcoats were scaring fish to their weedy retreats. So it was, and so I suppose it still is; only the mischief increased a hundredfold by the puffing steam-engine, which now lands anglers close to the river's bank. We can't help these things, and must sit smiling and allow that a quick transit is a great advantage; while, for genuine sport perhaps, we must "go farther," and, for real comfort, consent to "fare worse.'

During my stay at Bakewell, I extended my piscatorial wanderings to the banks of the Dove, and located myself for a week at Mappleton, where I obtained very tolerable quarters at the inn, situate close to the river, and surrounded by enchanting scenery. This water, like the Wye, is of a clear and crystalline character, and consequently requires the same fine fishing and caution which I have already advised for the last-named stream. I had good sport during my sojourn here, besides the pleasure of getting the water more to myself than at Bakewell.

Rodney was my constant attendant in my piscatory rambles, although dogs are often nuisances on such occasions. He sat with pricked-up ears, and eyes intent upon the struggles of a trout or grayling, while he whined, shook, and trembled after the manner of terriers under excitement. I believe he took them all for water-rats, which he frequently killed on the banks, and sometimes followed into the water, to my disgust, though I could not help admiring the quick and masterly way in which he deprived the noxious vermin of life.

At the business of rat-catching, Rodney was equal to any dog in