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Duchess of Richmond, and other members of the nobility, from the course. Thursday, with every appliance of attraction, was the Cup Day," with a bonus of fifty per cent. The sport was of unprecedented promise it brought together the best horses in England, to run for the greatest general race of the season, and, among the smaller events, there was pleasant assurance for those who wrestle with Fortune. With Friday, and one of the most prodigal lists of sport ever seen, the meeting closed

"In one unclouded ray of living light."

Such fields, such troops of visitors, such a racing gala, never yet did a Sussex race-course exhibit! Surely it was a finish worthy even of princely Goodwood, to see five-and-twenty horses come to the post, for a single race, as a wind-up to four days of unexampled brilliancy.

Come we to the reckoning, "now the banquet's o'er." The event of most importance, and since most liberally commented on, was the declaration (when nine-tenths of the mischief that could be done was accomplished), that Crucifix would not shew for any of her Goodwood engagements. Now this is a question, touching which, as Father O'Leary said about purgatory, a good deal may be urged upon both sides. First, we will look at the facts. It was stated (coupled with the notice that the mare would not go to Goodwood), that the cause of her paying forfeit was rumoured to arise from injuries received in running for the Oaks. Such may or may not have been the case, but there were reasons enough without any injuries received at Epsom. I am perfectly convinced that it was to the astonishment of the stable she was preserved in any form, to be brought to the post for the Oaks. How she "pulled through" that race was little short of a miracle: how any man in his senses, who saw the state of her legs there, could back her at such odds as were current for any future event, I cannot understand. The plain state of the affair is this: she is a cripple (and what else could an overgrown three-year-old be, that has been running, for the last twelve months, more destructive races than any aged plater in the kingdom?) and her training is purely a thing of chance. She may stand or she may not, but these are alternatives that no human foresight can anticipate. Moreover, the Turf is, in our days, a pursuit that some adopt for pleasure, and some for profit-and all are "honourable men.' Here, your bettor learns that a horse will not start for such and such a race, from its being stuck up at Tattersall's; there, from having it stuck into himself. There is no disputing about tastes; one man, like Don Juan, at the siege of Ishmael, follows "honour and his nose," while another, buttoning up his breeches' pockets, repeats, La charité bien ordonné commence par soi-même. I see no just cause of complaint against Lord George Bentinck; he did as he had a right to do; if people had their fingers scorched, they cannot say he thrust them into the fire.

The details of the running are given, in pursuance with the plan adopted with all the principal meetings, in the Turf Register. No form of words could do justice to the scene. The morale of a racecourse is not easily told, however one may skim the surface for the "quips, and cracks, and wreathed smiles" that float so richly upon it. If the various causes that impel to its excitement could be read, then,

were

indeed, would a stirring page be traced. If the human heart we analyzed, the thirst for powerful emotion would probably be found the strongest passion of the largest number. That it is the great attraction of racing is beyond a doubt. The turfite is he who, in spirit and letter, adopts the philosophy of Campbell's quatrain :

"Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed—

The useless calm, the slumber of the dead?
No! the wild bliss of nature needs alloy,

And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy!"

THE CHASE IN THE WEST.

To the Editor of the Sporting Review.

Honiton, August 3rd.

SIR, I proceed to fulfil my promise, of giving you a slight sketch of the different packs of hounds in this my native county, and in our eastern neighbour. First on the list comes the worthy baronet's, Sir Walter Carew, of whom I, unfortunately, cannot myself say much, from having seen his jolly dogs but once the whole of last year in the field, when we drew the plantations round Stover, the beautiful seat of the Duke of Somerset, alas! blank.

Then comes that merry, amusing, first-rate sportsman, Mr. Bulteel, whose kennel is at Lyneham. Both Sir Thomas (Limpetty, his huntsman,) and his master, are as enthusiastic sportsmen as ever bestrode pig-skin. But, oh! Sir Thomas, why did you not keep your weathereye open, and whip the pack off from that Rauney brook vixen, killed, after a sharp burst of less than half-an-hour, on Stall Moor; for, probably, a fine litter was thereby lost. The field usually number among them, Sir William Trelawny, Mr. Charles Trelawny, Mr. C. Bulteel, Captain Harrys, Mr. John Weir, Mr. Parrott, Mr. Paul Treby, Mr. Augustus Corryton, and, generally, some officers from the garrison of Devonport. I think Mr. Bulteel's hounds have a greater variety of meets than almost any pack I know; of which the following are the favourites: Lequers Bridge, Gara Bridge, Bittaford Bridge, Shaugh Bridge, Shaugh Wood, Pearse's Plantation, Hempendham Covert, Pursnineh Bridge, Newton Wood, Plym Bridge, Cadworthy Bridge, and Lucus Wood.

Of Mr. Crohan's hounds I can say nothing, never having had the pleasure of seeing them; neither the East Devon, whose kennel is at Cotford Sidbury, hunted by Messrs. Cockburn. The North Devon have the kennel at Synebridge, and are beautifully worked by Mr. Russell, with whom I hope this year to have some sport.

Then Mr. Knight keeps a pack on Exmoor, at Simon's Bath, and has some brave doings, having such capital foxes, second only to those of the "peep o' day boys," at Penzance (Western Hunt).

I hope that good sportsman, Sir Arthur Chichester, is flourishing with his buckhounds.

Mr. Morgan keeps a pack of foxers, near Tavistock; and, when the worthy master himself is out, they shew right good sport; but when he is prevented from attending, everybody turns huntsman; and nothing but hallooing, trumpeting, and confusion ensues. Mr. Lemon, Mr. Lyne, Mr. Scobell, and Sir William Trelawny go out with these hounds, not being far from Harewood: they are beautifully mounted, the latter generally on one of his own breeding.

I will not say more of the Devon and Somerset staghounds (the only genuine stag-hunters in England, I believe), than that their kennel is at East Anstey, and that they are hunted by the Hon. Newton Fellowes and Mr. Stawell; as, after that spirited account in your Number for July, of a severe run with them, mine would be "stale, flat, and unprofitable;" particularly as I was that day left " over the hills and far away," from an accident. Now, then, we will ring a change with the harriers.

First, Lord Rolle leads the way from Bicton; Mr. Buck, at Hartland Abbey; Sir William Pole; Mr. Torr's North Devon; Mr. Frewd; the Tavistock Hunt, at Crowndell, by Mr. Gill; Mr. Bellew; Mr. Exeter, at Stockleigh; the Ashbury, Mr. Woolcombe; South Devon, Sir H. Butler; Hempstone Vale, Mr. Skinner; Mr. Roe's at Ringmore; Mr. Wreford (late Captain Weir), Bow House; the Huish Hunt, Lord Clinton, Sackville Hall; Mr. Ashford, Colniston; and last, and least, Mr. Radcliffe's beagles, at Warleigh ;-spread over some few square miles, and their sport varying according to their country; but, for the most part, good.

Of the Somerset I shall say nothing, not having seen them for three years, but that Captain Luttrell, of Kiloe Court, hunts the western, while Mr. Tudway, of Walcourt, does the same for the eastern division; and of harriers, there are Mr. Greenhill's, at Knowl; Mr. Luttrell's, of Dunster Castle; Mr. Richardson's, near Langport; and a small scratch pack at Wivelscombe.

Last year having been so little at home, being tied and bound by the chain of hospitality in the "Far West," across the Tamar, I can give but a poor due to the merits of either our own or our neigbours' kennels; but I hope this year to be able to send you a good account of the sport afforded by each pack.

Before closing, I cannot avoid alluding to the grief that has spread over the county of Cornwall, in consequence of the deeply-lamented death of Mr. Daubuz, master of the Forborough (F. B. H. at Truro), by a fall from his gig. He at once commanded the esteem of his brother sportsmen, and the love and affection of those who had the real pleasure of his acquaintance. I understand his brother being unwilling to continue the pack, it is to be kept by subscription, nobly headed by Mr. Gregor, of Trewarthenick. Yours,

"WEST COUNTRIE."

1

SOMETHING NEW ABOUT FISH.

AN article on this item of zoology, comprised in a page and a half, is of itself no insignificant novelty at this particular crisis, when the "Fishes" are more emphatically in the ascendant than, probably, they ever were since Jonas, his adventure. The subjoined morceau is from a late odd book, called "The Sportsman in Ireland," and it propounds a worn-out subject in a fashion so naïve, and out of the common-place, that we quote it for the double purpose of affording amusement and, haply, eliciting information. For ourselves, we plead utter innocence of ichthyology, beyond a natural propensity for turbot or salmon, when boiled; the former attended by its fittest allies, capers; the latter, by a young cucumber, fresh and fragrant as a water-nymph. If the fact be as our "Sportsman" assumes, then, not to speak it profanely, your gentleman salmon is a scaly monster, and no mistake. But if there be cause to doubt his theory,-oh! Mr. William Yarrell, oh! Mr. Thomas Bell, to the rescue! Draw grey goose-quill for the honour of "the comely eel in the verdant mud." Let not this awful libel go unrefuted, if, peradventure, ye can prove its falsehood. Talk of anthropophagi! what sort of a community, prithee, is that which dwells among the groves of coral? Murderers!-prolecides!—the idea is too shocking to analyze. "We found but one fish between

the castle (Inverary, the seat of the Duke of Argyle) and the waterfall, where the interposition of art ends. A rustic bridge has been constructed over the fall, from which may be observed the efforts of the fish to throw themselves up the rocks into the stream above. In half an hour we saw at least twenty, out of which only one succeeded, the rest falling backward with great violence on the rocks, and thence into the boiling bay beneath. The instinct of this creature has puzzled philosophers, and, among the rest, even Sir Humphry Davy; and the notions he had formed of their impulses do not naturally, I think, arise from a careful and extensive observation. It is quite certain that the salmon has other inducements to ascend streams than the purpose of depositing spawn, or of attending the females busied in the work of procreation.

"This river is supplied with fish freshly run from the sea, even in the earliest months of spring. I attribute the purpose to that grand and potent impulse among all animals-the search after food: the young fry, not only of the salmon, but trout, beginning to vivify, constitutes a great portion of the inducement; while the provision of nature is not only obvious, but worthy the highest admiration, which has so regulated the economy of this best and most prolific inhabitant of the waters. It is certain that a salmon, which successfully arrives at her spawning ground, will deposit one million of eggs. If there existed no enemies to check this overwhelming increase of the young, the rivers would become putrid with animal matter, and the vision of the 'Auncient Mariner' realized. The destruction, however, of the destroyers themselves, by the art of man, the assistance of wild birds and the otter, have no direct tendency to lessen the number of salmon, since they capture only those which, if left at large, would

materially thin the progeny. I believe the melt of the male, which has always been considered necessary to the vivification of the ova, is never so employed; that the whole of the system of generation among fishes, which has been with so much faith accepted, is founded in delusion, and that the impulse by which the males follow the females at the time of spawning is the purpose of securing the eggs, which she is about to deposit, for food.

"At Galway, I had, from the fishing-house of Mr. Keogh, which is on the body of the river, frequent opportunities of observing the fierce combats of the male and female: they are easily distinguishable; and, from the violence of the female, and the determination to dig her bed without the intervention of the male, the latter being an exceedingly cowardly fish, and always yielding, I can have no doubt but that the former regards the latter as an enemy: but it is a fact beyond all dispute, that, at this season of the year, both salmon and trout (whose habits are entirely similar) seem to be deranged on the subject of the roe. I threw among the shallows a quantity of the peas which I had preserved as a bait; and I was struck with the extraordinary swiftness, both of sight and purpose, exhibited among the combatants. The preserved bait was now the only mode of capturing either salmon or white trout. Nor is it unworthy of remark, that males and females indiscriminately seized, with equal avidity, the spawn of another of the same kind, while the latter were in the very act of depositing their own."

BLAINE'S ENCYCLOPEDIA OF RURAL SPORTS.

SHOOTING, in all its details of munitions and practice, is most elaborately and carefully treated by Mr. Blaine. He must have "crammed" awfully for it, seeing that he is perfectly au fait to every item of the craft-from the Greek fire to Eley's patent wire cartridges (most delicate inventions, and worth an ocean of "Medea's oil" any day in the week). To be sure, it is a subject whereon authorities, ample and minutely descriptive, abound infinitely more than upon any other in the whole catalogue of Rural Sports. Where, for instance, save among the worthies who have enlightened mankind on the science and mystery of the trigger, will you find an author who, like Colonel Hawker, never leaves you in the lurch, from the time he seats you in your punt, till he places you behind your mallard, embalmed in ambrosial froth, done to the fraction of a second, and flanked with a heavenly sauce, wherewith, in the words of the savoury Frenchman, "a man might eat his grandfather?" Our Encylopædist devotes upwards of 200 pages (containing about as much letter-press as would handsomely furnish a circulating library of modern novels) to this division of his work; nor flags from the instant he goes off with "Explosive Substances," till he winds up with the amount of duty paid annually at Leipsic for larks. Doctor Latham remarks, that "the duty paid at Leipsic for larks, amounts to 12,000 crowns per annum, at a grosch, or twopence-halfpenny, for every sixty larks ;" whereupon, he very ingeniously observes, "we may, therefore, suppose how very

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