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hounds of any sort-surely his lordship would never ram a foot home in the irons with a boot so fearfully armed for an accident.

Of Abraham Cooper's two other animal subjects we prefer the "Foray," which is designed with great spirit, and the cavaliers and cavalry sketched as only Abraham Cooper can sketch them; while his cattle, though clever, remind one of a namesake's that, on the principle of " every one to his trade," are much better. Abraham Cooper claims the horse, Sidney Cooper the cow. In the present exhibition, however, the former has furnished a couple of studies on themes with which he has not often hitherto been accustomed to treat us, "Ariadnes," "Apollos," and such-like luscious figures, that, from the occasional resemblance, must, as Charles Mathews sings it,

"Have surely been brought on by that Madame Wharton,
With her endless succession of models-of models."

"Sunset" in the Academy and "Evening" in the Institution are perhaps the best of the other Cooper's works; the decline of day, especially in the first named, being very beautifully shown. There is a richness and ripeness about it, that ranks the picture as a work of art with many of the best foreign subjects of the same kind. His "Goats" again, as a study of that animal," in every degree," is nearly equal to Landseer's well-known "Peace," in which the sheep was made the all in all on the same terms; while his cattle, though generally after a bad rugged-hipped sort of Jersey breed, are the chief points, of course, in his own picture, and made to tell very effectively in some of the Ancient Britain landscapes of Mr. Lee. The pair have "toured" North Wales to a purpose.

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If we were to name the two most popular sporting Baronets in England, we should have little hesitation in pointing to the two that have this year submitted to Mr. Grant "the operation" of having their portraits taken-Sir Tatton Sykes, already noticed, and Sir Richard Sutton, who is taken, "knee-caps and all," like John Corbet at the finish of the Epwell run, "in the midst of his hounds." Horses that look like hunters, sportsmen that look like gentlemen, and portraits generally not to be for a moment mistaken, are the recommendations of Grant's well arranged groups. The present he has made the medium for introducing a strong cast of crack masters of hounds; to wit, the Duke of Rutland, Assheton Smith, Colonel Lowther, Mr. Green, of Rolleston, and Sir Richard himself. Mr. Heathcote, the Marquis of Granby, and two couple of "the Master's" sons are also on the scene; the last named young gentlemen, according to the decisive tone of a lady of ton, over whose shoulder we just saw the Meet, being "made much too young looking." We don't speak to the identity ourselves, but when we find that three of the four have already reached the rank of Captain, we see some reason for repeating her ladyship's opinion. Grant's sporting themes end here, but it would be ungrateful indeed to dismiss him before passing our tribute to his picture of the Ladies Howard, daughters of the Duke of Norfolk; without a doubt the most beautiful portrait piece of the year. The voice of the people goes against the admission of portraits generally. But is there a man with soul so dead who could help admiring this? A friend of ours has seen nothing but it, in his two visits to Trafalgar Square. Perhaps to be

properly appreciated, a comparison should be made with such things as Mr. R. A. Reinagle's "Clerk of the Peace," a gentleman delighting in a red velvet waistcoat, and a little lady's-whip-a portrait that for attitude and expression, Farmer Flamborough's limner would have been loath to own.

We have been only able to discover one racing subject in the three exhibitions-a portrait of War Eagle by Harry Hall, who seems by pretty general acknowledgment to have succeeded Herring in this particular branch of the arts. It is not only a good likeness, but a very carefully finished performance, in which the correctness of the minutiæ shows still further how much Mr. Hall has profited by his residence at Newmarket. Marson, the jockey, especially looks like a jockey, and not that awkward hawbuck or pigmy impossibility we have so often seen associated with the high mettled. Going from the stable to the paddock, we have to notice a very clever group of Mr. Wigram's brood mares, by Woodward, who now indeed seldom paints anything indifferently, as witness his two mountain scenes, "The Pack Disturbed"-goat and grouse-in Suffolk-street, and a brace of Setters in the British Institution.

The brothers Barraud have been very industrious, exhibiting more works that we can well enumerate here. One of the best, however, is "Favourite Horses, the property of the Marquis of Worcester," which is only blemished by the curious twist in the head and neck of the brown; his attitude, according to the rules of anatomy, is utterly impracticable. The Adelphi have also a couple of cart horses, nicely painted in illustration of "Evening," and the day's work done. A good cattle or cow-house scene, and four or five casts into foreign climes and former days, that are smaller both in size and attraction. Mr. Bateman is another whose efforts are unceasing, and who provides, as usual, Scotch terriers, with their various victims and facetious titles "to be continued," and all painted in customary unity of colourdogs, rats, straw, and boards, being all of the same dingy yellow. By far his best works are some Shetland ponies, waiting for sportsmen on the Moors, already engraved and published in our magazine, under the title of Hearts in the Highlands ;" and a large hay-making scene, which is very unfairly buried in the Octagon room, a sepulchre that ought to be kept for such things as "The Curate, a celebrated steeplechaser," that should, really in justice, never be hung anywhere else.

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Beyond the Meet with Sir Richard Sutton's hounds, of which mention has been made, the hunting subjects are almost as scarce as those taken from the turf; Mr. R. B. Davis, the champion of this class, exhibiting but one picture in the Academy, and that on the well-worn theme, "He breaks away!" from Somerville. The hounds crossing a ride in the woodlands are hardly packed enough to please the eye of the connoisseur in hunting matters; though, as a make up, the scene is very true and life-like. By long odds, however, the best thing in re hounds, is from the easel of a provincial artist, a Mr. Nightingale, who has sent in to Suffolk-street a most charming picture of "Frolic" and her puppies, the property of W. P. Honeywood, Esq. The work is very favourably hung, but not in a better place than it deserves, and is certain at once to claim the notice of any man with half an eye for such subjects. The drawing and colouring are both undeniable; the

chief figure stands well out, and the branch of ivy with which "the future hopes" are amusing themselves, is not merely a well painted trifle of the order now so fashionable, introduced for the sake of itself alone, but " an agent" of great service in bringing the young ones together. How generally do we see puppies dotted round the mother in careful circles, without giving one any other idea than that they were pushed forward like awkward children to stare steadily at nothing at all while Mr. Soft-soap took their pictures! Some time or other we hope to be able to present each of our subscribers, as the Art-Union with a copy of Mr. Nightingale's very clever production.

says,

It seems a curious thing, that scarcely any man can paint a fox-a real right-away wild fox, that is. The second number on the catalogue, under the title of "Not yet gone to the dogs," is an attempt at one by Mr. A. Corbould, that has more of the character of the cat than anything else about it. There is another in the same room, glorying over a drake scarcely a whit better, though far more ferocious in aspect. Mr. Ansdell's publishers, by the bye, have just brought out one from his easel-in company with the same dainty bird-a great fine fat monster that could not live for five minutes before hounds. We remember some time since, on seeing an etching of this print, objecting to the great breadth of the head, when we were met with the answer that it must be correct, as the fox was playing about the room while the artist worked at him. Here, perhaps, is the key to the many failures we have in fox painting the models are tamed animals, and so, consequently, almost altogether devoid of that varmint, rakish look that so eminently distinguishes bold reynard in a state of freedom. The best we ever saw not alive was a vixen stuffed by an Oxford man, that, if we only knew were to drop on it, we should like to set up as a sign for all illustrators of the National sport to mark and learn from. It ought to be presented to the National Gallery.

Our notice we find is running to such a length that we must sum up rather briefly, omitting, no doubt, many items we intended to speak of. In "dead game" there is not, perhaps, so abundant a supply as hitherto, one of the best subjects of the kind being by Mr. Barker, in the British Institution Children guarding Game on the Moors." It is a clever little picture, and the grouse and partridge are very faithfully givennot so the head of the setter introduced, which is bad. Mr. Barker might take a lesson in dog painting, from a foreign artist of the name of Kiorboe, who has a brace of greyhounds on the opposite wall, and a Newfoundland bitch and puppies in the Academy, both much beyond the average of merit. "Famished Wolves," however, by the same hand, is a work as inferior in style as less inviting in subject.

Amongst the most attractive of all the exhibitions where, indeed, nearly everything is good, is the new Society of Water Colours in PallMall. We could be very eloquent on such works as that of the Misses Corboux, with their lovely Rachels and Leahs; of Miss Setchell, whose "silken gown" is truly beyond price; or of Haghe, with his wonderful picture of the Monks at Matins; of Corbould, and the luck of Peveril with such an hostess to whisper in his ear; of John Absolon, with his evening dance; and many more gems and many more names that we dare not dwell on. Laporte is nearly all our text here, and his horses and hounds do no disgrace to the other papering of the room. The

"Old English Squire," in illustration of the following extract of a MS. song, is his chief piece, both in size and quality :

"He kept a pack of foxhounds,

Of the true old English breed ;
Musical and staunch they were,
But not much formed for speed.

"His hunters were enduring,

And could go a decent pace:
To suit his hounds he bred them-
Not to run a steeple-chase."

The grey horse the squire is on is very carefully finished, and just the sort of nag "not much famed for speed," the MS. author would imply. To define one of the merits in this picture, we may add we hardly ever saw more character about a horse's head than is given in the grey of the Old English Squire.'

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And now, with our pencil worn to a stump, and our quiet and easy companion worn nearly off his stumps, we throw a handkerchief over our aching eyes, and drop off into a troubled sleep. To doze and dream of irate artists, neglected genius, wounded feelings, and snarling critics, all mixed up together like the drop scene of a Standard" comedy, or the grand effect of one of Mr. Turner's most inexplicable excellencies.

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A PEEP AT THE PROVINCES;

OR,

THE CRACK PACKS OF ENGLAND UNDER REVIEW.

BY ACTEON.

(Continued.)

THE SURREY UNION, THE OLD SURREY HOUNDS, THE H. H., OR LORD GIFFORD'S HOUNDS AND SIR JOHN COPE'S, &c.

To those sportsmen who may be enabled by circumstances to avail themselves of all or most of those minor diversions which make a residence in the country so much more desirable than an existence in town, the setting in of a hard frost is by no means exempt from a numerous train of pleasurable ideas and expectations. To say nothing of a week or ten days' rest to the cavalry, which, after such a soaking winter as the last, must in most instances require a trifle of physic, and the chance which missing a couple of turns in their regular work will give to their battered feet and shins-that most exhilarating of all gunning, namely, good wild cover shooting and wild-fowling, have attractions for many nearly equal to fox-hunting itself. To such, however, as are indebted to their friends, to whose hospitable houses they may be lucky enough to be invited, it is next to an impossibility to square matters upon all occasions, so as to have no open days left upon their hands. Such being the case with myself, and not having seen either

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the Surrey Union or the Old Surrey foxhounds in their kennels for some years, I dropped down to the Swan Inn, at Leatherhead, one bitter cold winter's evening, and on the following morning, January the 25th, found myself, by nine o'clock, in the kennels of the Surrey Union, which are situated at a short distance from the neat little village of Fetcham, distant from the town of Leatherhead about two short miles. These hounds-which were under the management, for a considerable number of seasons, of Mr. Hankey, of Fetcham Parkwere given up about three years ago by that gentleman, and are now under the control of his son-in-law, Colonel Sumner, assisted and supported by a committee of the gentlemen of that neighbourhood. pack consists of twenty-nine couples of working hounds, which, for the severe country it is their doom to hunt, a great part of it, especially on the hills, being one bed of rugged flints, is certainly a very small force for so arduous an undertaking during three days in each week. The huntsman, John Dale, I had known some years ago, when he lived as first whipper-in and kennel huntsman to Lord Kintore, to whom he came from the Vine hounds. After his lordship sold his hounds to Mr. Ramsay, of Barnton, John Dale hunted the Linlithgow and Stirlingshire one season; he then returned to his old quarters, the Vine, where he became huntsman for two seasons; but, from some cause or other, he left that kennel, and rather than not go to hounds at all, become a second time a whipper-in, turning the hounds for one year to George Bere, in the Oakley country. Last spring he obtained the situ ation of huntsman to the Surrey Union, where, from his steady conduct and obliging demeanour to all who hunt with this pack, he is likely to become a great favourite. To take these hounds as a pack, I should not, by any manner of means, pronounce them as a level lot, nor yet, indeed, remarkably clever in many of their points: amongst them, for instance, you may see many throaty, short-necked, cloddy-necked, upright-shouldered, coarse-looking hounds, especially amongst the dogs; but some of the bitches are remarkably fine animals, and ought to pass muster before the most fastidious judge. I should like to draw about fourteen couples out of the whole lot, and just try and kill a fox with them for once, even if I had no better field for my exertions than that wild-looking district known as Leatherhead Common. They breed but very few hounds in this kennel, being dependent almost entirely upon drafts, picking them up wherever they can, which accounts for the great want of symmetry in many of the hounds, and for the many and various sorts of which the lot are composed. As I said before, the bitches are out-and-out, more attractive to the eye than the dog-hounds; and in looking over the latter, a good judge would instantly recognise the superiority of a small lot (two-season hunters, if I remember right, for they have no lists belonging to them) as coming from some first-rate stock; and upon pointing them out, I found they had all been purchased as unentered hounds from Mr. Foljambe's kennel, the year before his pack were brought to the hammer.

Upon the stud, which are used for the purpose of carrying the huntsman and whipper-in to the Surrey Union hounds, we do not feel much inclined to expatiate; for, with the exception of one aged horse, which is ridden by John Dale--and he is certainly a clever-shaped nag, and well-bred enough to go to hounds in any provincial country-we saw

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