vain I looked for Dixon: no Dixon appeared. The old horse raised a gallop, which, seeing haste was unnecessary, became a trot, and eventually a walk and I was hailed a winner by the expectant crowd, Dixon's horse had broken his back. "I suppose "Well, Daly, what do you win?" said Phillipson; you backed our friend?" "Yes, I did; though I think the chesnut would have won but for his accident: Leveson made such use of his horse at first. I never saw a fellow start with such pluck; I will say that for you, old boy, though I don't think it was judicious with such a leary bird after you as Dixon. I'm sorry for his horse; but it serves him right, he's such a screw, and as jealous as the devil." It was palpably to my interest to hold my tongue: so I did. I had evidently made a hit, and mentally resolved that, having done enough for my reputation, I would be seen again in nothing more formidable than Port Meadow or the Abingdon Course, for which my harlequin jacket was admirably adapted. "Who's for a rubber, or some loo ?" "Oh, hang it! not a rubber, that's so slow. Let's have vingtet-un.' And out came the cards. The first hour was noisy, and some money changed hands; the second was quieter; by the third, half of the table was gone to bed; and after that there remained five of us; but conversation had ceased, and we substituted for it "Another one more,' "That will do," "Double you,' ," "Pay the dealer all round, " "A natural," "Whose deal?" "More champagne, ""Confound the cards!" "Lend us five more, Daly: pay you to-morrow." The faces that in the morning were all happiness and life were now gloomy-care-worn; either quite pale or bright red. None of us any longer loved one another as boys should do; we were getting prematurely old, not in manner, not in look, but in feeling, heart, and temper. There was very little of the morning's winnings left, moreover; and when I got up that night I had tasted blood. I was a pure gambler, not a gamester; for Fortune has tried all my life to cure me, but losses make me worse. There was not much harm in hunting, after all. Steeple-chasing would have been bad enough, but an absurdity of some kind always drew its sting and left it harmless, as other boyish amusements; but "Play!" nothing recommends it-nothing excuses it. Daly! you had something to answer for, from that evening. (To be continued.) THE LATE SIR RICHARD SUTTON, BART. Rarely did any event come upon the sporting world in general, and on the Midland counties in particular, with more surprise than the announcement of the sudden death of SIR RICHARD SUTTON. Our last number, it will be recollected, contained an article intimating the probability that he would quit the Quorn country at the end of the present season, and gently urging some persuasives that he would recal his decision. Little did we then think that Sir Richard would so soon not only quit the Quorn country, but all the things of time! The Quorn season had been commenced with all its wonted spirit; Sir Richard had displayed all his well-known ardour in the field; and sportsmen's hopes were raised, not only for another brilliant season, but for many a brilliant season to come. On Friday, the 9th, the hounds met at Bunny Park; and of the many who assembled at that favourite rendezvous, there was not one who appeared in more vigorous health than the honoured Master. Never was his zeal to show sport, or his own personal enjoyment of it, more conspicuous than on that occasion. "We may yet book the Baronet for many a good year at Quorn! was the exclamation of a sportsman who had for more than twenty years shared with him the pleasures of many a glorious run. How fallacious are human reckonings! In a few days-we might say in a few hours-from the time when he appeared SO ""full of lusty life," Sir Richard Sutton was no more! His going to Cambridge House, his appearing in excellent health and spirits after breakfast on the Wednesday morning, and his being found, a few minutes after, cold in death, are all known to our readers; but none who were not present at that morning's meet at Ratcliffe can form an idea of the thunder-clap which the sad tidings of his dissolution communicated to the assembled field! His favourite hunter was waiting for him at the covert-side (for his presence was thought probable), his favourite pack had just begun those "wood-notes wild" which had so often been music to his ears, when a horseman arrived at full speed from Quorn, with the order, "Stop the hounds; for Sir Richard is no more!" Sorrow and surprise were seen in every face. Slowly and sadly the field wended home; and the unwelcome intelligence was soon spread through the county. Sir Richard Sutton was born December 16th, 1798, and succeeded his grandfather as second baronet in 1802. He was educated at Eton; and long before he had reached his majority, he evinced that love for the chase which may be said to have been the ruling passion of his life. No man ever devoted himself with more ardour to any pursuit than Sir Richard Sutton did to that which he was wont to call his "vocation." His immense wealth, greatly augmented by a long minority, enabled him to indulge his taste as few men have ever been able to do. For many years he hunted the Burton country with great éclat, and both in Lincolnshire and in Nottinghamshire acquired a popularity rarely if ever exceeded by a master of hounds. He succeeded Lord Lonsdale in the mastership of the Cottesmore. On the retirement of Mr. Hodgson from the Quorn country, Sir Richard Sutton, with the reputation of being one of the most accomplished sportsmen of the day, became the purchaser of Quorn Hall and Kennels. His elevation to this, the highest sporting post, was as gratifying to all true sportsmen as it was flattering to his own ambition. During the ten years that the late Baronet presided over the Quorn country, he maintained its great hunting establishment as it had never been maintained before, without a single subscription. The cost of this maintenance has been little short of ten thousand a-year! Even that large outlay would have been cheerfully doubled, if doubling it could have secured Sir Richard's constant object and aim-the perfection of fox-hunting. Nor was it on selfish grounds that he made such sacrifices of his time and his wealth. He was ever anxious to procure the greatest quantity of pleasure for the greatest possible number. He lived for this. "The applause of listening senates to command," As a or the usual objects of ambition to men of his position, formed no part of the aims of Sir Richard Sutton. He would have preferred being accounted the most finished sportsman in Europe to being prime minister of England or victor of Sebastopol. With such means in his power, and with such a con-amore devotedness to what really was his profession, it is not surprising that he attained the preeminence he sought for. He was the prince of fox-hunters. In that capacity, Leicestershire will never look on his like again. Nor would it be right to infer that this devotedness to the chase rendered him utterly oblivious of all other claims on his extensive means of doing good. He was unostentatiously liberal and kind-hearted. landlord, few excelled him as a husband and father, he was indulgent, even to a fault. It is not improbable, indeed, that the early loss of his excellent lady, who had borne him eleven children of whom any parent might well be proud, and the premature deaths of two of those children-Lady Edwin Hill and Mrs. Clowes-may have laid the foundation of that disease to which he fell a victim. He was not a man to make a parade of sorrow; but there were moments when, in all the ardour of the chase, observers must have noticed a deep gloom come over his handsome and manly face. Who, however, that saw him the pride of the field at Bunny, could have dreamed that that was to be his last run-that they should see his face no more? "Hunter, rest! thy chase is done!" It would be superfluous to enlarge on the merits of a Master so well known to almost every sportsman in England. A long experience had made his judgment in horse and hound as correct as that of any master of his times. His hand and seat were very near perfection; and he rode with exquisite ease and grace, as well as with undaunted nerve. He was free from all bluster in his riding. With such long practice, and such a taste, it would have been strange indeed if Sir Richard had not been an adept in all the arcana of the chase in the stable and kennel as well as in the field. He found, ran, and killed his fox selon les règles, like a finished workman. Is it possible for a man to be a master of hounds, and not occasionally find that equanimity of temper at all times is unattainable? Possibly the very impression that the master could not be ruffled would be productive of liberties that would spoil all sport. It is true, perhaps, that "a master of hounds must either be a despot or a slave;" and Sir Richard would, when need demanded, be every inch a king. Yet "How bright and beautiful came on The stilly hour, when storms were gone!" But hush! Even to hint at the possibility of a fault in one who had spent one hundred thousand pounds in hunting Leicestershire as it ought to be hunted, would seem to say that Leicestershire did not know how to spell g-r-a-t-i-t-u-d-e. For ten years of sport-" gratis, free, for nothing"-not always such sport as the zealous master himself could have wished, but, under occasionally adverse circumstances, better sport than any other master could have afforded-Leicestershire and sportsmen at large were indebted to Sir Richard Sutton. A chieftain, when viewing a marshalled army, is made to exclaim ""Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, and certainly it was worth a good deal to see the "array" of the Quorn field, as we have seen it, under the auspices of him whose early loss we are deploring. The Sutton group-the gallant sire and five of his stalwart sons, two sons-in-law, and his lovely daughters; the steeds the pack-and the field-formed a tableau never, alas! to be repeated. Mr. Grant has, however, we trust, perpetuated it on his life-like canvas. A word on the family of the departed Master. Sir Richard Sutton was descended from a branch of the Suttons, Lords Lexington (barony now extinct). The day after he came of age, he married Mary Elizabeth, daughter of Benjamin Burton, Esq., of Burton Hall, county Carlow; and by her, who died in 1842, had seven sons and four daughters. Of the sons, John, the present baronet, married the daughter of the late Col. Sherlock; Richard (now of Skeffington) married the daughter of the Rev. H. Houson; Henry married Matilda, daughter of G. H. W. Heneage, Esq., M.P. Four other sons are unmarried, as are the two surviving daughters. Richard's mother remarried with Thomas Wright, Esq., of Upton Hall, Nottingham, and had by him one son, the Rev. Bankes Wright, who was, therefore, half-brother to the late baronet. Sir It is perhaps too early to speculate on the consequences of Sir Richard's demise to the Quorn Hunt. The present baronet is a man of literary tastes and retired habits: his taking the mastership is, therefore, out of the question. Mr. Richard Sutton, equally devoted to the chase with his late father, will not, we think, feel disposed to incur so large an outlay. Had Lord Stamford not been hunting the Albrighton country, he is probably the man for whom the mastership would have had charms; and with his large Leicestershire estates in the neighbourhood of Quorn Hall, without any residence, the mansion itself might be very convenient to him. He would, besides, as |