from scent to view, turned him, and ran into him in a large field, after as fast a forty-five minutes as ever was seen in Herefordshire.

Jan. 6th.-Lord Gifford drew Westhide, and found a leash of foxes, one of which was killed in about twenty minutes' work in covert; a second fox was found in Wolf's Coppice; the hounds ran him with a bad scent over the Froomshill road, and to ground in a turf drain, from which he was bolted, and after a fast fifteen minutes they pulled him down.

On December 29th, the Old Berkshire Hounds met at the Leather Bottle, and found their first fox in Kingston Spinnies; he went away to Sparsholt Coppice, and then bore away for the railroad, and across the enclosures to Rosy, over Rosybrook twice, then to Baulking, and back to Rosy, where he was killed after a run of one hour and a quarter. A second fox was found in a hedge row near Farringdon-road Station: he went away like a shot out of a gun to Park Island, and on across the enclosures at Stanford Park, leaving Stanford village to the right -forward, and across the road, and over Rosy brook to Rosy, the hounds racing him through this small covert, then away for the Wilderness, and over the Fearnham and Shillingford road, to Ashy Coppice, where the first check occurred: time, up to this point, three quarters of an hour, the pace first rate; the fox then went back to the Wilderness, and was killed at Sand's Farm. This was a very superior day's sport, and the last run was over as fine a country as any man need wish to ride over. I regret to add that a serious accident occurred in this run to Mr. Morrell, the master of the pack; he had been riding hard with his hounds up to within a field of Ashy Coppice, and in crossing this field his horse fell at a small ditch in the middle of the field, and came down heavily; Mr. Morrell was much shaken, one, if not two, of his ribs were broken, and the muscles of his back injured; in consequence of this severe accident, he has been prevented from appearing in the field since, but in a few days it is hoped he may again be able to take his place at the covert side.

These hounds had a very quick thing on Friday, Jan. 16th: after killing a fox at Milton Hill, they drew the Norbrooks, and found a second; he went away by Betterton, and Lockinge Clump, and on through Little Hendred, and was killed at East Hendred village, after a quick burst of twenty-two minutes without a check.

The lamented death of Sir David Baird has cast a gloom on the hunting world. He was a man deservedly liked, and respected by all classes-kind, affable, and courteous; as a sportsman and rider to hounds, he was of the first order-and as a friend to the farmer, he was second to none. His death was caused by a kick from his own horse, whilst he was removing some impracticable barrier in a run with Lord Elcho's hounds.

Jan. 20th.

RABY.

46

THE RUN OF THE SEASON."

ENGRAVED BY J. B. HUNT, FROM A PAINTING BY E. CORBET.

AN "ADELPHI" RECORD.

Who-whoop! Tally-ho! Here's the way you should go-
Eu! Hurrah for " my Lord" and "the ladies!"

Eu! They crowd to the cry, and like pigeons they fly-
To get to 'em who now afraid is?

Oh, you

"dinner-time" crew! Ah, what have you to rue! Or, come, did you stop with more reason? For there's many a swell's lame story to tell Of this clipper-" The Run of the Season."

With a scurry for first, in a ten minutes' burst

There are plenty, no doubt, will cry "Quarter!" But we stayed for another "Hoik into the cover!" -"Gone away!" and he's facing the water.

Like a good'un he braves it, and his brush he just waves it,
As the bank t'other side he has won;

And then off, with a stride that has lots of 'em tried
Before we've seen half of the fun.

You know that Town brook, a very rum'un to look
At, and pretty nigh reaching a stopper;
But at it old Ferryman went like a merry man,
Although he did give me a cropper:

Still, there's nothing to pay, and so sailing away
With the Major," one Whip, and a stranger,
We cram o'er the grass, while each game little lass
Has her hackles all pointing for "danger."

By Jove! It was furious, and those doubles so curious,
So nice for the "in-and-out clever ;"

And no picking your place, but slap at 'em you race-
"Now then, sir, you know, now or never!"

And oh, where were the craners, M'Adamites, laners?
Who shall tell of their cares and their crosses?
Where, too, were the nickers, hard-pullers, and stickers?
Where, oh! where the fresh second horses?

Look to him well, James, for I had'nt a change,
Tom never got up 'till 'twas over;

And so on the old brown I saw him pulled down,
In his point for a bit of gorse cover.

Loo on, Caroline, loo! for he's fairly your due ;
To deny him you now were a treason-

Who-whoop! Tally-ho! Here's the something to show
How we finished the "The Run of the Season."

OUR LEICESTERSHIRE BUDGET.

The Weather-Scent-Sir Richard Sutton-Sketches of two average runs-The Duke of Rutland's Hounds-Meet at Croxton Park-Festivities at Belvoir Castle-Lord Wilton-Improvement in the Meltonian Society effected by his Lordship's example, &c., &c.

November gave signs of a coming winter that promised to impede the sport divine" to an extent neither usual nor palatable. Auguries were taken from the flight of Arctic birds-from hawthorn hedges-and from old women; all agreed that we were to be frost-bound for at least three months, and that our dear old mother Earth, to prevent her from bronchitis and catarrh, would wear a mantelet, wrapper, or rug, of Siberian colour and fashion. Never were croaking prognostications more completely at fault. The weather, so far, has been above average hunting weather-the scent far above average scent-and consequently the sport above average sport. Arbitrary as a despot, and variable as a woman's mind, scent is, however, often best on those days on which mere meteorologist observers would expect no scent at all. At one time, it will only "lie" on a wet surface, under a soft and cloudy sky -at another, it will be burning hot in a pelting storm, with the wind blowing great guns-and at another, when March winds and a hot sun have dried up every particle of moisture. This season has already shown numerous instances of these uncertainties in Leicestershire, but they have only tended to bring out the excellent qualities of the hounds and the scientific skill of the master and his staff. A mere diary of hunting performances is often a very stupid and very prosaic affair; and in the case of the Quorn hounds (or Sir Richard Sutton's, as they are now by common consent called), would be but a repetition of brilliant runs,' magnificent sport," and "splendid doings." To our mind one of the completest things this season was a run of an hour and seventeen minutes from Ella's Gorse. The appointment was Ratcliffe; Cossington Gorge, for a wonder, proved blank; in Lord Archibald Seymour's Gorse (ci devant Mundy's), a fine lazy dog fox was unfortunately chopped," and somewhat late in the day a capital varmint was unkennelled in Ella's. It is singular that a late find often affords the best sport: it was so in this instance. Crossing the Wolds at a pace that at once cleared off all outsiders, he made for the Vale, and went ahead. By dint of hard riding, and most admirable management on the part of Sir Richard, the pack was kept straight, and a run of seventeen miles was concluded by the most beautiful finale it was ever our lot to witness. A very similar run occurred on Friday, the 16th. The meet was Wymeswold. This is a fixture that always insures a large attendance. It is almost a central point between Nottingham, Derby, Leicester, and Melton; and on the present occasion the officers of Lord Cardigan's regiment--all, like their noble Colonel, thorough sportsmen-mustered in great force. Three hundred and fifteen well-mounted horsemen, with a very large proportion of pinks and several horsewomen, were counted on the field. A delay of

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