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"the Cambridgeshire," so that he has some good hunting blood in his veins, and he is himself as good a man, both in skill and judgment, as ever followed a pack of hounds. Foxes are always to be found in the Warden district, which extends towards Mr. Brand's and the Oakley country; and, in fact, the Warden Woods belong to the latter, although by courtesy the Cambridgeshire" hunt them. Again, Mr. George Newton, of Croxton Park, in Cambridgeshire, has some capital covers, which however, of late, have not proved good holders of foxes: this may or may not be the fault of the proprietor, but as he is one of the rising generation and, I believe, has not yet put on his gown at Cambridge, it is to be hoped that he will, when he comes to reside on his property, do that which it is the best interest and bounden duty of every country gentleman to do, namely, support foxhunting. The neglect of this friendly and unselfish principle inevitably embroils a landed proprietor in quarrels with his neighbours, who, as patrons of the sport, are usually men of substance and position in a county; he gets the cold shoulder in return, and as this is not a palatable dish, he either shuts himself up and growls over his bone at home, or he is driven to seek friends elsewhere, and in a sphere better suited to his ill-conditioned propensity.

It is a remarkable fact, that there is not a gorse cover throughout the length and breadth of the Cambridgeshire country; no rare little patches guarded, as you find them in some counties, like the garden of the Hesperides, which are drawn in five minutes, and produce their golden fruit in the shape of flying foxes; and yet two or three such covers would be of the greatest service on the Cambridge side, where they are most wanted, and would be the most appreciated.

The gownsmen frequently favour these hounds with their company; and, so far from spoiling the sport by vicious riding, they rather show an example of moderation and steadiness, which some older heads in that country would do well to profit by. Mr. Barnett speaks highly of their habits in the field, and is always glad to see them at the coverside. There is, however, one well-known character amongst them, who has been for some years a member of the University, and Bursar of his college. It would not be fair to specify his name, nor that of the ancient and honourable society to which he belongs; not that he would object to such a course, as he is altogether guiltless of scruples and fear, and as straight-forward within the walls of his monastery as over the plains of the classic Cam: but the specification, just for the present, might possibly be deemed impolitic. The equestrian habits of this gentleman are perhaps unparalleled; there is not a pack within fifty miles of Cambridge that does not recognize him as an attendant, and welcome his presence in the field; his anecdotes, fresh and sparkling from the mint, circulate like current coin among his "coffee-house" friends, and, on the other hand, when hounds are running, no man than he is better placed, or more devoted to the chase. But if his labours on the six days of the week equal those of a Barclay or an Osbaldeston, his exercise on the seventh proves him to be a regular Titan, who knows and requires neither rest nor relaxation: he rides twenty-seven statute miles, and has done so every Sunday of his life for a considerable time, to dine with a friend in the country; and after the mutual entertainment for we doubt not he is quite as entertaining as his host—

he again mounts his steed and returns, by the way he came, back to Cambridge. The exercise of that day, 54 miles, must "condition" him for the labours of the six, and those of the six qualify him for a Van-Wodenbloc professorship, if the University commission have such an appointment in contemplation.

During the late unfavourable season the Cambridgeshire hounds have had their share of sport, and the following description of a few runs may be regarded as an average sample of their general success. On Monday, February 9th, they met at Meagry Wood, in Huntingdonshire, found a good fox in Paxton Wood, out of which they rattled him without a moment's delay; he led them, close to his brush, at a desperate pace over the country towards Diddington Park, and shut out the whole field, with the exception of the "Flying Bursar," Mr. Pope, and the huntsman; over the brook by Buckden for Brampton Wood, through which he passed like an arrow, and struggled on for Midlow, but the pack pulled him down in the open before he could gain that cover-time 1 hour and 20 minutes, with hard running throughout. Drew Midlow Wood for a second fox: "That's Harmony!" said Bob Ward, as he heard in the distance his favourite hound doubling her tongue, with a quick and earnest expression-"that's Harmony! and the fox is afoot when her music begins!" The words were scarcely uttered before the fox was viewed crossing the ride, with the bitch hard at him, and the rest of the pack close behind, screeching for a lead. He pointed at once for Staughton, and came to the brook with the intention of crossing a small foot-bridge, for the floods were out and he relished not the look of the broad waters; but here being headed by a countryman, and the hounds in view, he dashed into the stream without hesitation, and gaining the opposite bank, soon left his pursuers far in the rear, and pointed for Bushmead. An active member of the hunt now pressed forward, and in the nick of time anticipated the fox just as he was about to enter some deep earths, of which he had before availed himself; then turning for the brook, he again faced it, and seemed determined, if possible, this time to choke off the field; the hounds simultaneously plunged after him, while two of the horsemen-Mr. Charles Lindsell and the huntsman-were equally determined not to be left behind: the former actually rode his horse over a foot-plank, which was submersed at least half-a-yard 'neath the surface of the water; and the latter struck off with his horse, and landed in safety on the opposite side. Here, alas! a sad tragedy occurred, and such as is rarely witnessed in a midland county: Harmony," the hound before-mentioned, and-as is always the case-"the best hound in the pack," was drowned, and with her a bitch called "Willing," also a good and useful animal, met with the same unfortunate end. After this grievous catastrophe, which cast a gloom on the sport of the day, the fox ran to ground at Diddington, having stood an hour and five minutes before this gallant pack.

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On Saturday, 14th February, the meet was Abbotsleigh Downs: found a clipper. A sensible old hound called "Sportsman," with a long, lean face and a high crown, drew his line for four miles; and at last the fox jumped up in the open, within ten yards of the hound. Ran him by Barford, and straight over the Tempsford Bottoms (a very heavy holding country, with strong fences); the hounds now carried a

desperate head under the hill for Everton, and away for Highfield (Mr. Brooks, Mr. Charles Race, and the huntsman alone living with them for four or five miles); he then pointed for Abbotsleigh Downs, struggled on to Weavely Wood, and was killed just as he reached Waresley Park, after a brilliant run of ninety minutes, with a check of only three minutes throughout the piece. On the following Monday they met at Shear Hatch, on the Bedford road, and had a bad day, without scent and without sport.

On Friday, Feb. 20, they had also a still more unsatisfactory day. They met at the Downing Arms-a favourite fixture, and drew carefully the whole of Lord Hardwicke's covers; but spinnies, plantations, pleasure-grounds, and the great woods were all a desolate blank. Such a day has an awful effect upon hounds and men; the former become slack, the latter gloomy and dissatisfied; the huntsman, too, gets his share of discredit, for the keepers, the very next time he comes, will generally reproach him with not drawing close enough. Why the very last time as you was here," will one of these velveteen villains say, "I seed a brace of foxes cross the riding, not ten minutes after you was gone;" and this he will take care to say in a voice just loud enough to be heard by some of the field. It is to be hoped Lord Hardwicke will put a set of more trustworthy men into the Post-Office than are usually put into covers, or it will fare ill with the country at large, as well as with foxhunters.

Monday, 23rd Feb. Met at Brampton Wood. Had a long woodland day of it after running for several hours and changing foxes, stopped the hounds at half-past five o'clock, twenty miles from their kennels.

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Friday, 27th. Kingston: again a blank day, much to the vexation of Mr. Hurrell, who owns the principal cover in this country. Even Sir Vincent Cotton's covers did not produce their usual fox, owing probably to the operation of cover-thinning, which was going on at that time. After a blank day, Griff. Lloyd used to say, on parting with the field, I would not advise any man to come and dine with me to-day; I should be terribly bad company!" and I incline to think that Mr. Barnett, with all his hospitality and kindness of heart, would not be found in his merriest humour on that same afternoon; at all events, he would be more than mortal if he were so.

St. David's Day: Agden Green: did not find till they got to Brampton Wood; rattled him in cover for half-an-hour, and after a quick ring or two he ran an old ivy wall, and shirked into the gardens of the Bishop's ancient palace at Buckden by this manœuvre he nearly beat the hounds, and quite outwitted the huntsman; the latter, indeed, was persuaded by a mob of footmen that they could see the fox ensconced among the ivy of a large oak tree, and was further persuaded to perpetrate an ascent, cased as he was in hunting attire. His scansorial powers were the subject of no small derision to the clods, who hailed him as an owl in an ivy-bush," for not taking his boots and spurs before he attempted the tree. It is needless to say the fox was not there; but the hounds found him in a snug corner of the old highwalled garden, and killed him at once in a foul black-soil pit, with the unsavoury contents of which one of the fast members of the hunt was sorely bespattered. He had just been congratulating himself that his breeches would go again" before they went to the wash-tub; but his

off

calculations in an instant were doomed to utter annihilation. Found a second fox in Buckder Wood, and finally, after a pretty hunting run, lost him in the Oakley country.

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Mr. Barnett has forty couple of working hounds in kennel, which may be considered a full complement for a country which only admits of three days' hunting a-week before, and two after Christmas. They average, dog-hounds and bitches, 23 inches; and if plenty of bone, with capital legs and feet, be essential points, I never saw a lot of hounds better furnished. Although there were ten or twelve couple of hounds amongst them which had hunted at least for five or six seasons, I wa surprised to find them all so very fresh upon their legs, and showing none of the effects of hard work in their knees-a circumstance, I conclude, attributable to the nature of the soil and character of the country over which their labours extend. The bright and muscular condition of the hounds also attracted my attention, and I could not help congratulating Ward upon their workmanlike appearance: "Yes, Sir," said he, they do look well: my plan is early feeding; and unless you treat a hound well in kennel, you cannot expect him to serve you well in the field." That Ward is a strict disciplinarian within the walls, there can be no doubt; and yet I have seldom seen hounds fonder of their huntsman than they are of him: at the word of command the bitches separate from the dog-hounds simultaneously, and thus relieve the huntsman from the trouble of drafting them individually by name; thus, "bitches come on!" and the thing is done in an instant. Fortytwo couple and a half of puppies were sent out to walk last season, so that with a fair share of luck Mr. Barnett may calculate upon a good entry for next season. Such a resource will enable him to draft liberally from his old lot, and render the Cambridgeshire a very perfect pack of hounds. Mr. Barnett is strong in his own blood, but is also indebted to Lord Fitzwilliam and the Oakley kennels, and of late has also gone abroad considerably to other kennels, as may be inferred from the fact that the last seven hounds in his list are by sires from seven different kennels. However, in consequence of bad luck among the breeding hounds, there was a very short entry of his own puppies in the beginning of last season, so he was compelled to make up the necessary number from his neighbours' drafts--a circumstance which accounts for the seven different sires.

Mr. Barnett has had the Cambridgeshire hounds for twenty-three years, and, as may be expected from his cordial and conciliatory manner, he is a great favourite with all classes: his devotion to the cause of foxhunting has been strong and consistent during that lengthened period, and without doubt it will continue so as long as his life is spared. He is also a great farmer, and, I believe, a very successful one with respect to choice stock: but on this subject I will venture to say nothing, as I only feel myself authorized to speak of him in his public capacity as a master of foxhounds. His huntsman, Bob Ward, was bred at Brixworth, in Northamptonshire, and early in life turned Mr. Harvey Coombe's hounds, under Hill and Will Todd, for two seasons. Afterwards he came to his present master, with whom he has been as whip and huntsman for fifteen years. He is a zealous energetic man with hounds, has a quick eye and ear, and is said to be sensible and clever in his casts. In connexion with his trade, though not in the field, he has

had two very narrow escapes for his life. On the first occasion he slipped his hold on the carrion scaffold, and fell upon a huge meat-hook, which pierced through the fleshy part of the back of his thigh, and held him for an hour or more in that painful position. On the second, he fell, luckily leg foremost, into one of the kennel coppers, when it was full of boiling broth, and escaped with only a sad scalding. The subjoined is a list of the Cambridgeshire hounds :