Nowhere is the music of the pack so melodious as on Charnwood; nowhere is scent so certain-dry or wet; and nowhere do there occur scenes of greater interest, or incidents of greater novelty. I may mention, by way of episode, what happened to a friend of mine on one of Mr. Hodgson's best forest days. We had come to a short check, and my friend gave token, not to be mistaken, of having had a procumbit. On my expressing commiseration for his plight, he replied, "Not one word of pity; my fall has afforded me a treat only enjoyed once in a century. While sticking fast in a bog, I saw fox-hounds and field pass over Becon Ridge in the sky-line! A sight never to be forgotten."

Then the interest of the localities of the forest. In one run I have passed Bradgate, so hallowed by old memories of Lady Jane Grey, the field of the Ivanhoe's Tournament at Heather, and Bosworth Field; scenes, of which even the ardour of the chase cannot render one oblivious.

I had a sporting visitor last season (haud Famæ ignotus) who had never set foot in Leicestershire, but who had thought of it as a poet thinks of Arcady. He fancied himself on classic ground when, from the coach-box, he first got a sight of the hundred-acre fields between Harborough and Glen. The first meet he attended was, however, in a different country. The fixture was Beaumanor; and certes, so far as the meet is concerned, it is one to make a man in love with all the amenities of fox-hunting. A beautiful old mansion occupied by a good old English gentleman, with all the hospitalities of by-gone times still practised to perfection, a picturesque park-scenery for a Claude or a Rosa-and the certainty of a find. On this occasion there was a public breakfast as a preliminary, and a good breakfast, as well as a good dinner, goes far to put a man in the way of being pleased.

Buddon Wood soon found us a fox. He took the forest line.

"And now amidst the rocks and dells

The gallant chidings rise;

All CHARNWOOD's shaggy forest yells
With many mingled cries."

In sooth, it was a delightful burst; and, having crossed over some of the very roughest ground that can be imagined, Reynard was run into on one of the peaks of Charnwood. We were nearly 1000 feet above the level of the sea, and 5000 square miles of English ground were beneath our eyes, yet had we had a scent unbroken for an instant. And when the fortunate gainer of the brush mounted, à la Peter the Great, upon the point of a craggy rock, and waved the envied trophy, the scene was altogether delightful. My visitor, who had followed the chase in all the four quarters of the globe, declared he had never before so keenly enjoyed it.

This season's cub-hunting in Charnwood has been all that could be desired. The young hounds have taken a course of lessons in that locality that will fit them for work any where. And all agree that their doings on the forest give earnest of brilliant sport.

To the respected master, who has again brought the forest into favour, the greatest prajse is due. He will have his reward in the certainty of plenty of foxes, well-trained hounds, and hosts of thorough sportsmen to follow them.

Oct. 13.

W. H.

DEER-STALKING IN THE HIGHLANDS.

C Castle, 13th September, 1840.

MY DEAR M--Your letters reached me here, and found me in very comfortable quarters. I was rather bluish when I first arrived, but have now rallied, and spent my time very pleasantly, having had capital sport considering the season, which has not been so favourable as usual for the high moors, on account of a severe storm in May. I arrived here on the 11th of August; and killed twelve brace of grouse on the 12th, and a brace of plover; 13th, killed fourteen and a half brace; rested the 14th; and killed eighteen and a half brace, and a blue hare, on the 15th. The following week I shot with another man, and killed twenty brace first day; twenty-five the second; and twenty the third, and a blue hare. I then tired of grouse-shooting, and went up to Lord A's quarters in Glen I- to pursue the nobler sport of deer-stalking. I have a capital two-grooved double rifle, made by the person who made my gun-certainly a top sawyer; as you may remember my exploits with it at Cummerhead, and at the magpies, from the dining-room window at Bd. He has now set up for himself. His name is Dickson, and he lives at 60 Prince's Street, Edinburgh. I recommend him to your special notice and patronage.

The first day's stalking I had a long shot at a hind and broke a leg, but we did not get her, as we could not slip the dogs on account of the other deer. After a space, seven or eight came cantering past, about seventy or eighty yards distant. I picked out the biggest; took, as I thought, a cool and deliberate aim, but missed "as clean as a whistle:" so ended the first day. The next, I got a very long shot (200 yards, or more), but the ball struck short. I did not fire at a fair shot, standing 150 yards off (at which distance my rifle is infallible), because I thought I would get nearer; but the herd either winded or saw me, broke back, and the first glimpses I had of them after was on the sky-line of a hill about a mile off: this ended the second day. I was rather disgusted, as you may conceive; and next day, being splendid, resolved to make my premier assai at ptarmigan. Accordingly, I rode part of the way up an awfully sublime hill, and then sallied forth, gun in hand, bent upon destruction. The first ptarmigan I saw I took for a pigeon, and was not going to fire; but at last I did, wounded, fell in with him again, and, I rather suspect, despatched him, though I got him not. My next was a long shot at a pack. I wounded severely with the first barrel, floored a brace with the second, and, having drawn blood, went on, never missing any thing like a fair shot; and in the afternoon, I killed three double shots successively. To conclude, I destroyed ten brace, bagged nine, a blue hare, and two brace and a half of grouse. These same ptarmigan are devils to kill you have not the most distant idea of what shot they carry off an old cock grouse, ay, the strongest on Cummerhead, or any other head, is a perfect fool to them. It is beautiful sport, however, shooting them among magnificent scenery; and capital walking

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once you get up: but there's the rub-it's no joke I can tell you; for I walked up the second time I besieged them, and a cruel stiff pull it was, et point d'erreur. The day became overcast, and a mist came on, which made them demnition wild: so I thought I should not get a single shot; but I killed two brace of ptarmigan, one brace of dotterel, the first I ever slew (capital eating, by the way), and two brace of grouse, or two and a half, I forget which.

The weather changed after this, and I feared it was "all up" with the deer, and that I should be obliged to return to C― bloodless; but one lucky afternoon it cleared for a time, and I sallied forth, as an Irishman would say, alone with another man (hitherto, the Hon. Capt. A. had been with me). The weather again thickened after we left, and I began to despair; still I held onwards, and at last reached the ground, when, strange to say, I first saw the deer, although I had an experienced stalker with me. We lay in the wet and watched them for a long time, having discovered another herd. Both were so placed that we could get near neither, without being seen by some of these wild inhabitants of the glen. At last, in about an hour, they joined company, when we silently and noiselessly proceeded to stalk them. We did it beautifully for some time, coming up the hill upon them; which, generally speaking, is impossible, as they always look down hill, and trust to their noses for danger from above. When we got within 150 yards or so, we stood and looked: I was behind, of course; and thinking the man did not see them, I popped up my head and said, not a little too loud, "I see one," when they immediately bolted; and the man afterwards told me, that at the time he certainly did not pray for me. However, what is done cannot be undone, so nothing was left but to rush forward, keeping out of sight till I got the turn of the hill, where I then stood in full view of about thirty deer-three of them stags-who also stood and stared at me. I did not know which to fire at, so asked the man, and his reply was, "fire at the middle one:" but that was rather a puzzler, as there were several groups. The deer stood fast until, I suppose, they had made up their minds that I was a dangerous customer, and off they went full tilt. Thinks I to myself, now or never, so I fired at that which I deemed the best on 'em; and from the sound of the ball, I thought it had told, but saw nothing for smoke. I then rattled away again, and my bullet struck a stone between two stags-rather too near to be pleasant I suspect; when they were out of sight in the twinkling of a bedpost. The stalker never told me that I had hit one, but rushed up the hill like a demon dismissed from the presence of his exorciser, while I proceeded to re-load my rifle, and search for my hat, which I had thrown away when coming-in on the deer. I had scarcely found it, when I heard the wood ring to the cry of the hound. I now began to suspect I had wounded a deer; and knowing that, if it was so, he would both take down hill and run to water, I hastened up as fast as I could, and blundered into a cairn of stones, where I could only move about six inches at a stride, and that at the risk of breaking my legs or my neck. At last, I cleared them, and stationed myself in an open, where I saw the hound cross in full cry; and presently the deer came back, passing at a hand gallop about sixty yards from me. I missed him with my first barrel, but the second sent him heels over head, and there he lay for a

moment, but again started when the hound came up. He then approached within a few yards of me and rolled over on his back, making sundry attempts to take the hill: but non potuit venire; so made for the water, where he stood at bay, up to the neck. In I went and was going to pull him out by the horns, but the stalker gave warning that he would fell me, so I retired. We got him out at last, and I was going to lay hold of his heels, but was again told he would break my leg, which I thought would have been rather a difficult achievement for him, seeing that both his own were broken. He was then "gralloched," and the man and I, of course, stalked him, and killed him two or three times over again. I was highly delighted, as you may imagine, and went home lighter in the heels than when I started. I left Glen I- a day or two afterwards, and have since fed upon his haunches: no bad eating either. My first ball struck the bottom of the haunch, and went through both his legs. These were rather unpleasant circumstances to gallop down hill under. My second ball hit him on the hip bone, went through the "gralloch," or paunch, and stuck under the skin on the other side. It was cut out, and I have it now, nearly split in two. These were bad shots, and I should have fired a foot or two before him: but I did not know that then. Yours, most sincerely,

J. W. M.

PRESERVING FOXES IN HANTS.

To the Editor of the Sporting Review.

SIR,-In these days, when every sporting work we take up is filled with complaints (and not without cause) of the decline of fox-hunting; when we hear of the Pytchley country going a-begging, and the foxcoverts in the Raby Castle district being destroyed, it will be gratifying to you, Mr. Editor, as a sportsman, and to many of your readers, to know that all countries are not so situated; and, as an old inhabitant of the county of Hants, and a great admirer of the manner in which the noble sport of fox-hunting has been patronised in our county, in spite of all its difficulties of woods, flints, and barren hills, I cannot resist sending you an account of a gratifying sight I enjoyed a short time since at Eastmeon, near Petersfield, situated in the Hambledon hunt. I was dining with Mr. Henry Barnard, who occupies a large farm in Eastmeon parish; and in the evening he said, if we would walk a short distance to a covert of his, he thought he could shew us a brace of foxes: and a little before dark we strolled to the spot. The wind being high, and setting the right way for us, we were enabled to get very close to the place where these foxes were generally to be seen without their knowledge of our approach, and, to our surprise, instead of two we saw seven-the two old ones, and five cubs, nearly full-grown, playing like puppies, tumbling heels over head from a bank into a road, catching one another by the brush, and playing gambols of all

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sorts. During the time we were observing them, and while these games were going on, the old ones were listening in every direction to find out if all were quiet; and, when satisfied of safety, one of them led the way up the hill towards Bordean (where there are a great many rabbits), and the five young ones followed, the other old one keeping in the rear. On gaining the summit, they were alarmed at something, and all retreated, best pace, to the cover (which I believe is called Mascombe). In about two minutes, one of the old ones ventured out again, went up the hill, and, finding all clear, returned, led them off a second time, and we lost sight of the party. These cubs were littered a fortnight before the close of the last hunting season, and have been fed and preserved by Mr. Henry Barnard, though close to his poultryyard. This will, I am sure, be appreciated by the members of the Hambledon hunt; and will, I hope, be the means of affording them some good runs. I am certain it rests with themselves; and if they go the right way to work, there will be no lack of foxes. We commence the season with a new man, Mr. Long, at our head (not new to us, save as master of the hounds). No one who has been in the habit of hunting with the Hambledon hounds when under Mr. King's management, can do otherwise than regret his loss as a first-rate sportsman. I have before said Mr. Long is in every way calculated to take the lead in this hunt; and I sincerely hope he may shew us as good sport as Mr. King has. H. H.

ITEMS OF SPORTING FROM THE NEW WORLD.

THERE is a harmony between the character of the rural sports of America and the fashion in which a true Yankee describes them, that makes the narratives of adventures in flood and field from beyond the Atlantic full of interest and novelty. Many genuine specimens of such writing have but an ephemeral existence in the periodical literature of their native land, and as little chance of being read or heard of here as the scandal of the court of Pekin. We have already rescued more than one of these waifs of the Muses; and, in giving an English home to the following extract, we offer it an introduction that we believe our readers will cordially sanction and second. The scene is laid in Hamilton County, N. Y.; the limner, we believe, the editor of the leading sporting journal of the States. We omit all the preliminary matter, good as it is, and give the pith of the article, which begins where the writer enters upon the field of action:

"It may be as well to state in this place that Hamilton County is very sparely settled, and still less cultivated. There is wood and water enough in it for a pretty smart statę; and the country is so healthy, that ten men run away where one dies. At a majority of the best places for sport you are five miles from any house, and twenty from any where else; so you will be obliged to build a shanty, and camp out. The salmon or lake trout are taken all over the county, of prodigious size; occasionally one is taken weighing thirty-five pounds, while the speckled or brook trout run from one to four pounds, and are killed in immense numbers. The shooting is splendid; there are more moose and deer killed annually in