which centre the navigation of the river above bridge, and form a land of promised sport for the patient piscatorial followers of curious Master Isaak Walton.

We have said the waning moon was sinking in the west. The sparkling of the bright-eyed planets was partially obscured by a misty vapour from the sweating earth, denoting another sultry day. During the winter months some half-dozen flickering lamps in the High-street distinguished the gable-ends and corners of turnings to the night-pressed traveller; but this was not the season for parochial lighting. The outline of the old church, and the range of eccentric roofings, some high and pointed, and some Elizabethan, or Cromwellian, or Low Dutch, presented a strange, irregular, dark line against the horizon. The clock of the town-hall had just sounded the hour of three, and the vibration of its gong-like tremor was dying on the ear, when the clank of horses' hoofs was heard in rapid speed passing over the bridge and now entering the High-street. It was soon apparent that they were a couple of bold equestrians riding for life or time. Of their habit or condition no one who had seen them could have offered any opinion: the fashion of their costume was adapted to the concealed nature of their enterprise. The disguise of the tallest was a round slouch felt-hat, with ear-pieces to tie under the chin, like a Templar's cap; a red shawl cravat encircling the neck and half the face, to protect the mouth from cold; and a large rough bear-skin coat, with horn buttons of the size of crown pieces, enveloping the figure; the dress terminating with brown leather breeches and top-boots. Had any of the Bow-street bull-dogs been on the look-out for a highwayman (and they were not uncommon in those days) they might very justifiably have seized upon the Honourable Thomas Sparkle and his man-tiger as (to all appearance) fair game. The tiger might, however, have frightened bolder spirits than Bow-street officers in the dead of night. Imagine a lumpy figure on a disguised animal presenting an outline something between a bear and a bonasus, the head of the rider being disfigured by a huge cat-skin cap, with a fan-tail flap behind to keep off the wet, and two bright brass buttons in front, which looked like the eyes of some feline marauder; strapped to his back, John Stubbs had (after the fashion of the time) his master's leathern wallet containing his change of clothes, and in front of him, strapped to his saddle, his own little round portmanteau; over these back and front humps was thrown a chequered Scotch horse-cloth, borrowed for the nonce, and tied round the neck of the rider, to keep out the night air, the tail of the cloth extending over the shoulders and head of his horse, so that only his facial line was visible, while to his dorsal extremity was extended an old riding jacket covering his loins, with the arms hanging loose on each side, and flapping frightfully, in appearance, at every step of the animal. In this way master and man clattered along, as fast as whip and spur would impel their panting steeds, through the High-street of Henley-upon-Thames.

Save at the projecting bay window of the post-office, not a light was visible; and here a solitary lantern dangled to and fro, suspended to a string, by which the guard of the Oxford mail was to signalize the postmaster, and exchange bags by means of a hook at the end of the line. Directly opposite this house was an ancient gateway, with carved medil

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lion brackets and side-posts of the rudest design and execution, probably of Norman construction. The overhanging house (once the residence of Cardinal Wolsey) had been modernized, stuccoed, and whitewashed, over the diamond oaken framework, which was still observable through the colouring. High above, and extending more than half-way over the road, was suspended from a long iron bracket, of remarkably fine tracery, a huge, square, creaking sign, on which was gibbeted the form of some chimerical animal, whose particular affinity to any known genus, whether of earth, of air, or water, might have puzzled those eminent naturalists Buffon and Cuvier to define. What it might have been originally when, as report infers, it was painted by the profligate animal limner, George Morland, who, in one of his wanderings, alighted here, and having no other means of paying his bill, tendered the production of his art in discharge of his account-it was now impossible to trace; but from the original White Bull it had been changed to the Red Bull, from the rouge to noir, and from black again to a staring vermilion with gilt horns, and a huge bunch at the end of his tail, which looked more like a besom than a fly-brush. Under so many transfigurations, it was not wonderful that the original outline had been lost; and as every village dauber, who successively re-coated the Bull, had his own crude ideas of the line of beauty, the work of George Morland, which, there was no doubt, was distinguished by his usual ability and truth to nature, had wholly disappeared.

Alighting before the hostelry of the Red Bull, our travellers were not idle in announcing themselves. Rap, rap, bang, bang, responded man and master on the gates, with the iron hammers at the ends of their whips. Bell there was none; and as there appeared no chance of awaking the ostler by such means, they proceeded to throw small stones against the upper windows, until the smash of a couple of panes of glass alarmed the ruby-faced host, who, guessing the nature of his customers' wants, vociferated

66

The nags be all ready, gentlemen. Don't 'e be zo impatient! I'ze coming down in a minute."

Before mine host could descend the stairs, Mr. Billy Ducks, the venerable master of the hostelrie, had thought proper to appear, and as he opened the gates, met with a double charge of rather strong language, ending in "stupid old fules !" " Mooney as usual!" "Stir your stumps!" Saddle the prads, Billy!" &c. &c. &c.; to all of which the said Billy Ducks, being somewhat familiar with such accostings, and knowing that they usually ended in the bonus of half-a-crown good currency, only muttered to himself—

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"Dang these 'varsity chaps! they beeze all so hurry scurry! I'ze not gotten my eeze widen, yet. I'm zure none but an old scout like I would dare to feace sich a brace o' devils."

While the Honourable Thomas Sparkle and his man John were disposing of a glass (each) of nearly neat brandy and a dash of water, mine host of the Red Bull was pressing payment of an over-due account for "sprees to the village," as he termed the great metropolis, observing that "University gentlemen used to hover round his dovecote like a flock of pigeons; but now they were as scarce as snipes, and their bills un nearly as long."

To which piece of pot-house pleasantry (although by no means agreeable) the Honourable Tom laughingly replied "You are a good fellow, Potts-Stand bleeding well-Whip on the interest-Put it down to the governor-All right next term, Potts-Pass the great go, enter "the land of independence," pocket the tin, and tip you the auram palpabili. Lend me five sovereigns, Potts, and say no more about it."

"Lor bless ee, zir! I cazn't do it. I'ze not gotten as much in the house. Brewer were here t'other day, and took all I had from 'e, d'ye zee ?"

"Do you know who I am, Potts? If my brother breaks his neck— and there is good chance of it-I shall be Earl of Sparkleborough; and when my mother dies of which I hope there is no chance yet awhile, God bless the old girl!-let me see, what shall I be then, John?"

"The Lord Viscount Brassington, of Brassington Grange, County Tipperary, and Baron Botherem, of Botherem Castle, county of Kent, with a rent-roll of fifteen thousand a-year." Then, whispering, "Think of that, old Potts !" and, touching mine host on the left shoulder, to induce a turn of his head towards the well-taught tiger, he removed all Potts's scruples by a most significant wink of the eye, which implied-If you don't lend the five sovereigns, you are pewter-Potts, and only fit to be melted down for dumps.

Peter Potts was neither leaden-headed nor leaden-hearted, although soft enough to bear a good impression at any time. If there was no pure gold in his composition, there was refined silver, and very little brass. To follow out the metallic simile, he might be likened to an amalgamation of bell-metal, capable, if properly touched, of producing exquisite moral melody. The tiger knew his weak point, and he had touched it skilfully. Peter Potts was a tuft-hunter; he loved a lord; could be firm as a stern-post in resisting a gentleman commoner, but yielding as Indian-rubber to the utmost stretch of nobility. To encourage a young lordling, Potts would disturb the whole of his domestic establishment at any hour of the night-cook, chambermaid, waiter, boots, ostler, and poor dear Mrs. Potts, with her lame leg, have all been obliged to turn out of their warm beds to prepare a hot spread and mulled claret for a party of University tufts.

On this occasion honest Potts felt himself in a difficulty between the desire to lend and his previous denial of the means. To escape from this dilemma, he would, he said, "go and try Mizzez Potts: perhaps he could squeeze five pounds out of her private purse. Mizzez Potts had her parkisits and pocket-money allowed her, and he had no doubt she would lend it my lord,' if she had it." In a few minutes the five sovereigns had been transferred in exchange for the honourable's IO U, the fresh nags were at the door, and Billy Ducks, cap in one hand, was looking smilingly on the half-crown in the other, wishing the mounted travellers a pleasant ride.

228

NOTITIA VENATICA.

BY R. T. VYNER, ESQ.

(Concluded.)

In some of the more remote districts of England, where, from the unhandy and almost impenetrable nature of the woodlands, fox-hunting in the more legitimate way is seldom or never practised, the amusement of fox-mobbing is carried on during the falls of snow in each winter, by the farmers and country-people, with the greatest perseverance. It is usual, in many of these rough settlements, to brew purposely a barrel of extra strong beer, to be broached upon the occasion of this annual hunt; and if it should so happen that there is not sufficient snow to enable these exterminators of the vulpine race to carry out their murderous design, the beer is kept till the next season, when a more fitting opportunity offers itself to carry on their extermination, and to regale themselves upon the beer, which, by its advanced age, had acquired an additional strength and flavour. This dreadful system was at one time carried on to a great extent in many of the Warwickshire woodlands, even where it was perfectly practicable to take hounds during the autumn for the purpose of cub-hunting.

When Sir Bellingham Graham hunted the Atherston country, he endeavoured to put a stop to a system which well nigh threatened to drain his woodlands of all his best foxes, by inviting to a grand dinner the whole of the farmers who might then reside in the neighbourhood of the Corley and Maxtock woods, and where the amusement of fox-mobbing had been annually carried on to a very great extent; but such inveterate vulpecides had these rascals become, that the very first snow which fell during the succeeding year soon dissipated all their promises to preserve the foxes for the worthy baronet, and they fell to the work of destroying the animals with as great alacrity as if Sir Bellingham had never even invited them to a dinner, nor received the slightest promise to abstain from their, to him, most annoying amusement.

At the time Mr. Corbet hunted Warwickshire, the practice of foxstealing was carried on to such an extent in some of his best country; for instance, Woolford and Dichford woods, and most of the covers on the Long Compton side of the country, that he was absolutely obliged to pay "black mail" to the poachers and fox-catchers who chiefly resided at Long Compton and the village of Mickleton, which is situated at the foot of the well-known Cotswold Hills.

The two most celebrated families of these marauders were the Hugheses of Long Compton, who are well known to this day for their excellent breed of earth terriers: the genuine strain to which I now allude are black and tan, curiously ticked upon their ears; in fact, one of the best dogs I ever possessed I obtained from one of these persons. The other family were the Sharps, of Mickleton, who were also quite as celebrated for their "little dogs," and were looked upon with horror for many years by the fox-hunters of Warwickshire and the Gloucestershire country, till at length a handsome pecuniary present to the last of the race, and the appointment as earth-stopper to the district, added to an

inveterate attack of rheumatism, acquired by his long system of nocturnal adventure, made him "an honest man ;" and he continued in the service of the Warwickshire hunt for many years, until the time of his death, which took place about the year 1830, leaving as a legacy to the late Mr. Russell-who at that time hunted the country-a large collection of traps, with which he used to take the cubs, having first wrapped the teeth with cloth, to prevent their legs being injured: with these traps he begged he might have his hunters shod, as far as the iron would go, as he was willing to make amends as well as he was able, for the great injury he had done to fox-hunting in his early life.

Before I conclude my labours, I suppose I ought, according to custom, to give a description of a perfect run. Now, I consider that imaginary runs are almost too puerile for even cockneys to read; and although I can describe a run perfect in all its parts, even to the " who-whoop," and where I might add "et quorum pars magna fui," the fact of its having taken place in a woodland district, and consequently the ground traversed only well known to a few provincials, will, I fear, render its record of not quite so interesting a character as if it had been enjoyed from "the Coplow" or the far-famed gorse-cover at Misterton. Still, however, I must describe it, short as the narration may be, as I really consider, if it was not the best run I was ever witness to in my life, the fox was killed in the most handsome and satisfactory manner to me, in one of the most severe and difficult countries in England for a huntsman and hounds to perform in.

In December, 1835, my hounds found a fox at Birchley Hayes, a large wood lying to the right of the London and Birmingham road. Upon going away he ran through Meriden Shafts-a large cover, the property of Lord Aylesford-with a burning scent; and passing through the whole of the Pockington woodlands, made the best of his way to Tyle Hill-a distance of about seven miles, the hounds carrying an extraordinary head through the whole of this difficult country, intersected as it is with rough ground and covers in every direction, without experiencing the slightest check. From this point the fox turned rather to the left, and passing through Crockley wood, made his point to a small head of earths close to Stoneleigh village, but which he found stopped, and continued his course over the river Avon, evidently determined to save his life in the Great Western Woods. At Stoneleigh village we experienced our first check, having now come about cleven miles in fifty-three minutes, over a most rasping and severe woodland country.

By a fortunate cast towards Stoneleigh Mill, the hounds recovered their fox; and hitting him over the water, set to running very hard in a direction for Waveley Wood, the whole field of horsemen being completely thrown out for a time, as it was necessary to cross the river by a bridge which lay considerably to the right of the fox's line.

The hounds were brought to check in the field next to Waveley Wood by a large flock of sheep, which gave the horsemen time to come up; when the fox, which had been turned from his point by a shepherd and his dog, was once more recovered; and from that point the pack, who were evidently running hard for their fox, drove him in gallant style to Babbenhall Wood, through which they rang his knell with the sweetest harmony. Here he was actually viewed by the hounds; but in a last