at an expense of the loss of a hundred in point of stamina or soundness, the change would be fatal. How far to go, and no farther, is the nice point; as Peter Harvey said of his sauce.

I remember the following trait of the above worthy host of the Black Dog, at Bedford, though I was a mere child at the time he had brought in a dish of his Maintenon cutlets. A gentleman at table took up a bottle of the Harvey's sauce; mine host rushed across the room and absolutely snatched the bottle from the guest's hand. "Pardon me, Sir," said Harvey. "His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales (whose refined taste no one doubts) once said that my Maintenon cutlets, with my sauce, added by myself, were fit for the gods.' But so exquisite is its flavour, that a single drop too much or too little would spoil its effects." Of course, Mr. Harvey was allowed to officiate for both of us; so I conclude that for once in my life I partook of the veritable ambrosia.

The man who can apportion the work of a race-horse with the precision Mr. Harvey did his sauce, is the ne plus ultra of a trainer. A good many, I suspect, do not cook their horses quite so well.

There are different opinions as to the advantages and disadvantages of sending horses to public training stables. I will not venture an opinion on a matter so difficult to decide. Circumstances sometimes render them preferable to private training; and sometimes, as an Irishman says, to avoid giving the lie direct, "the reverse of that is the truth." This, of course, the public trainer will never allow. They will tell you, no horse can be properly trained out of a public professional trainer's hands. "Je m'en doubte," that is, if the person who undertakes to train a horse knows what he is about; but let a horse be brought out fit to run for a kingdom, nay let him win it, all the professional trainer would allow would be, "He was brought to post very well FOR home training." I rather think Coronation was brought out pretty well from home training: I suppose I must also say FOR home training; at all events, he was brought out too well for a good many horses, and people too.

One thing is pretty certain, in sending a horse to a public training stable, figuratively speaking, every body will know more about the horse than his owner-a circumstance, by the bye, not very uncommon in private stables unless the owner (or some one for him) keeps as close a watch on the horse as other persons will do when the owner does not.

To attempt even an insinuation that any of our best public trainers could, in the remotest degree, err in any point of their treatment of horses, would, I believe, be a crime much greater in some people's eyes than sacrilege itself. We must then, I suppose, set it down that they are always right. But as there are a good many indifferent trainers, and (I merely suppose it possible) some very ignorant and consequently very obstinate ones, a man may presume far enough to venture an opinion on some part of the exercising treatment of horses by some of the last mentioned class of public trainers.

Horses exercising is one thing: horses doing work is another. Exercise is intended to keep them in health and steady, to increase the strength and elasticity of the muscles and sinews, to bring them

into proper form as to flesh and clearness of wind, to then go to work. Provided we really do this, I conceive it matters little how it is done. A trainer will say there is but one way to do it, which is, of course, the way he does it. I would not venture to contradict this; but as to there being but one way, I may be allowed to again say "je m'en doubte." The one way we will suppose the trainer to allude to is, so soon as the horse is properly prepared, to take his gallops, to regularly increase those gallops as to pace and length; and unless the weather or the state of the turf may compel a temporary change, the horse goes over the same training ground for weeks together.

Now what is the frequent consequence of all this unvaried regularity? The horse becomes tired of the monotony of the thing, jaded by the unwearied pace (for though the pace is increased, it is done so gradually that it appears the same to him), and so bored by his daily task, that often an ash plant is wanted to make him go through it; in fact, he becomes disgusted with it, hates his work, and the ground he goes on in doing it. What comes next? He shuts up, or goes out with the boy, or probably first the one and then the other. Should he not do this, he is very likely to get into a heavy dwelling goer, that will prevent his ever being a fast one; or degenerates into a lurching slug, that neither the boy can rouse in his work, nor the jockey in his race. Such, I am confident, are the frequent results to many horses from the unvarying discipline of long continued exercise, without variation in the way it is daily given.

In training men for fighting, or, indeed, any athletic feat, one great effort on the part of a judicious trainer is to keep the mind of his man amused, that he may not get dissatisfied or disgusted with his work. He is not kept to walking or running a given distance, at a given pace, over the same ground; the scene and the labour are changed for him: he is made to take strong exercise, it is true; but it is varied he walks and runs; but his walk is changed. If he is not quite disposed, or feels himself equal to go the same distance one day as another, he is indulged a little for that day; this induces him to go to his work with increased energy the next, and he makes up for his little respite. Cricket, raquette, sparring, and running with the harriers, are all resorted to at times to vary the scene. Provided the trainer gets a proper quantum of exercise out of his man, he cares not how it is got; nor is it necessary the same precise quantum should be got every day during a two months' training. A man would be bored to death if he was trained as horses are-he would get peevish, dissatisfied, and dispirited; and then bring him on in his training if you can.

It is true, horses are not men, nor do they possess the minds of men, but they possess a something that stands them in the stead; a something, call it what you will, that renders them perfectly sensible of what they like and dislike; and they tell us this pretty plainly when, if we have bored them by the same eternal gallop for weeks, they bolt off to get out of it when they come to do work. Work they must: I have only been alluding to the preparation for work.

CHARACTERS OF THE "FIELD."

BY BEE'S-WING.

We have all heard of, or read, or had "adventures by flood and field;" but in what I am going to write I leave the flood out of the question altogether, unless it be a flood-tide, and that tide be the one which is mentioned as having something to do with the affairs of man, leading him on to fortune, and heaven knows how much further, or the flood-tide of applause of the numberless readers of this Magazine, which I have not the slightest objection should flow my way. But setting floods and tides aside for they interfere vastly with hunting-and coming back to the "field," which, though the dryest subject, will afford us most amusement. In our every day life we meet with strange characters in the streets, in the theatres, in the ball or concert rooms, in the hunting-field-in fact everywhere. And have we not sketches by " Boz," and "Heads of the People" by somebody else, and other works, all drawn from these sources, and intended to represent "characters?" There are characters in a hunting-field that have never been described, I believe, and at which I will try. Would that I had the pen of Nimrod, or that his shade would assist me! though that is perhaps going a little too far for assistance, and being also slightly superstitious, I do not like the neighbourhood of "Shades," barring that at London Bridge. Would, however, that I had his talent, or a small portion of it, to describe what I wish to do, and that is, to give the uninitiated a sketch of characters met with in the hunting-field; for surely amongst the nobles, chimney-sweepers, baronets, shoemakers, knights, vagabonds, squires, parsons, and yeomen, we shall be able to pick out some one or other worthy to be presented to our friends. In all cases in the hunting-field the master of the hounds claims precedence, and we should, as in duty bound, have commenced giving you his character; but as that has already been done, ten-thousandfold better than ever I shall be able to do it, by Nimrod himself, I shall, therefore, spare the trouble of writing, and you of reading, any sketch of such characters, as you will find in "The Masters of Hounds" of Nimrod a full, true, and particular account of half the living masters of hounds, and a great many dead ones, whose places I have no doubt are filled by characters of the right sort. Did I go in rotation, I should next take the peers, but being somewhat erratic in my disposition, and not having as yet got up my part of noblemen, I will fly off at once to

THE HUNTING PARSON.

And I hope nothing I may write concerning hunting parsons may be construed into anything like a desire to bring discredit on the "cloth," but far otherwise; for in the follow

ing anecdotes I wish to show that he may be a parson-a hunting parson-and yet be a good man; and whoever enjoys the pleasures of the chase, that man is a sensible man, for it is conducive to health, it promotes sociality amongst all classes, and opens the hearts of all around. Did you ever see a morose man fond of hunting? No, never-Why? Because when he took to hunting he was sure to forget his moroseness and become as hearty and sociable as any old yeoman of the lot. Some people by some means find out that there is harm in everything, and no doubt many blame not only parsons but also persons for hunting; no matter, let all such Diogenes live and die in their own tubs of self-opinion-but no, let them try, merely as an experiment, one day's hunting, and see if they continue to be so determined in their opinions. I will give it as my opinion (and I have sometimes-though rarely-got a guinea for such a thing, though it was not worth so much) that they would change in every respect, and would after that "wonder why the devil Quakers do not hunt.' All men are self-opinionated; I have my own opinions, so have others theirs. Many like simpering and sliding through a quadrille, or getting into a heat with the polka; others do not like it. Some cannot bear hunting parsons; I do not see any reason to dislike them. Wildrake tells a story of a master of hounds, Mr. Meager, who kept a pack of harriers in the neighbourhood of Croydon, whose great aversion was a gentleman of the cloth in the hunting-field. I cannot resist the temptation to introduce the story here, as illustrating the dislike some have to the class of gentlemen ycleped hunting parsons:-"If Mr. Meager saw what he assumed to be, a clergyman in the field, his language to the dogs became interspersed with sundry denunciations of the sporting clergy, somewhat after this fashion- Yeh, dogs, yeh! gentle, Rantipole, there's a parson! Mind there, have a care, Bluebell! I hate a hunting parson! Yooi, yooi! what business has a parson out hunting Yooi, doit, Rarity, good bitch; why don't he stay in his parish? Have a care, Gadabout, and take care of the sick. Steady, dogs; steady, or marry somebody-yooi over, Active!-or bury some body. Hark, to Challenger, hark! forward, away! Wish I could ride over him. Damn me! how I hate a hunting parson! "

But to give you a look at a hunting parson. Just glance a little to your left there, and you will see a gentleman on a strong dark-brown horse, with a considerable deal of daylight under his belly, dressed -the gentleman, not the horse-in a black coat and waistcoat, with boots black to the top-Napoleons, I believe, they call them; I do not like the appearance of these boots, though of course they are more clerical than white-topped boots. The gentleman's leathers are scrupulously clean, or perhaps it is the contrast with the black coat and boots that makes them look so white; but look over every article of his dress, observe his saddle, bridle, girths, bit, and stirrups, they are all as clean as though he and they had been carefully packed"This side up, with care; to be delivered in the hunting-field." Well, that gentleman is a parson; and although he looks quiet and modest enough to be simply going into his pulpit to preach a sermon, instead of going to have a hunt, yet wait till we are away, then catch

him if you can, for, to be a parson, he rides like the devil. Something like what I have just described was a gentleman I met with once or twice: no matter where, he was a good parson and a hard rider. The following story was told me by an intimate friend of his, and I have therefore no hesitation in saying it is true:

:

"Towards the end of a very long run, when almost the whole of the field were tailed off, and those who could still urge their weary horses on, with the hope of being in at the death, were a considerable way behind, our reverend friend looked around, and found he was alone in his glory.' The fox was pretty nearly finished; so were the dogs, who gained but slowly upon their victim; when, as if to put an end to all escape of poor reynard, they came in sight of a navigable river, for which the fox was making straight. The bold fellow knew death was at his heels; so he resolved not to flinch at it in his face so in he plunged, and endeavoured to get across, though the tide was running strong. Some of the dogs also plunged in, and were carried away by the force of the tide: others lay down, almost dead, at the edge of the water. So stood matters when the clergyman came up. He looked round: there was no boat-no one near. What was to be done? It was clear the dogs could not cross the river: his horse was too tired also to try him at it; and the fox was either going to escape or be drowned; the latter was the more likely, for though getting a good way across, yet his strength was visibly failing. Our hero did not hesitate so long a time as I have taken to write this, but leaped from his horse-for he saw how matters stood at a glance-then off with his coat and hat, and threw himself into the river, struck out manfully, and having overtaken the fox, caught him by the neck just as he was sinking, and hauled him back again to the shore; but the varmint's life was so nearly terminated by exhaustion, that although allowed law,' he made no effort to escape, and was consequently done for and brushed' by the clergyman. Another gentleman came up just as our friend and the fox were returning from their water party, and seeing the state of affairs, exclaimed in extacy,' By Jove, W. you were never intended for a parson! that was enough for a master of hounds to do, and be proud of for the rest of his life.' The clergyman looked modest, begged he would not mention it, and ended by saying, "I so far forgot myself, my blood being up, and seeing that the animal would be drowned, with all the dogs looking helplessly on, that I took pity both on them and the fox, and brought him to land. But I wish you would say nothing about it, as one does things in a state of excitement we would not otherwise do, and all men do not like their failings to be talked of."

If you go to this man's parish, and inquire his character, you will find none who will not sound his praises; he is loved by his inferiors, and respected by his superiors, for his charity, hospitality, and upright conduct. Yes; but," says old Diogenes, "he hunts; that is sufficient." Why, you old sinner, if you had not spent all your days in a tub but gone out hunting, you would have been as willing to excuse him as I am.