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 says, with a copy of Mr. Nightingale's very clever production.

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.

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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."

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 JOIN 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

F F

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 Park— were 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. The 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 fas 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 hunts man 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

nothing but an inferior lot of what would be classed in most kennel establishments as very moderate cub-hunters indeed; but the coat must be cut according to the cloth, and report says that the subscriptions, upon which this pack are chiefly dependent for their support, are not large, and moreover extremely difficult to collect.

The whole premises at the Fetcham kennel appear to be upon the very verge of dilapidation. Rats abound in hundreds at every quarter, even to such an extent that the huntsman declared that it was impossible to remove any of the new-made pudding into the coolers in the feeding-room, as it would be half devoured in one night, consequently the feed can never be taken from the boiler where it is made until it is required for use.

The day upon which I had fixed for a visit to this pack was certainly a most unpropitious one for the purpose: the frost was intense, with a north-east wind driving through every corner of the premises. I hardly know which appeared to be the most under the influence of the biting cold, the hounds or their attendants and inspector; added to which, the decayed thatch, ejected from the roof of the lodging rooms by the colony of rats which had there taken up their abode in dozens, was whirled about by the wind in the most dismal manner; and as I turned away to take my departure from the kennels of the Surrey Union, I could hardly summon sufficient courage to take a farewell look at that most dilapidated of establishments, from whence the spirit of fox-hunting seemed for ever to have fled. If the Surrey Union foxhounds are intended to be ranked any longer as an esta blished pack, their supporters ought to purchase a new stud of horses, and ten couples, at least, of well-bred unentered hounds; moreover, it would be all the better if the premises were repaired to such an extent as the huntsman may be enabled to make the most of his feed without unnecessarily supporting the pauper population of rats, which have now so entirely taken possession of the whole of the buildings.

The frost still continuing with great severity, I determined to extend my journey as far as the Old Surrey kennels, which are situated at a place called Garston Hall, which has once been a superior kind of farmhouse, and is about five miles distant from the town of Croydon, between the Godstone and Reigate roads. These kennels were built about twelve years ago by the present highly popular master of the pack, Sir Edmund Antrobus, and are for the accommodation of the establishment kept there-about forty couples of working hounds, everything that can be desired. Lying high, they are remarkably airy and healthy; and the water is supplied in great abundance from a large new tank, which is filled every day by means of a pump worked by horse-power, the spring lying very deep in the ground. The stables also are exceedingly commodious, there being plenty of roomy loose boxes, affording accommodation for about ten horses.

I found Tom Hills just returned from exercise, looking, as he is, the very beau ideal of a huntsman, as cheerful as a lark and as blooming as a new-blown rose, having had a four-hours' trot in one of the most pinching north-east winds I ever experienced. He very kindly drew the hounds for me by their years, and being a cheery, facetious fellow, performed the office of showman in a most agreeable and satisfactory

manner.

Taking into consideration that the Old Surrey hounds are a pack of such very long standing, I must say that I expected to meet with a far more clever-shaped lot than I did; but when we are informed that, in that cheerless and flinty district, at times hardly affording sufficient scent for hounds to walk after a fox, much less chase him to distress, nearly every point is sacrificed to nose and close hunting, we can then easily account for the number of crooked legs, short coarse quarters, and cloddy and throaty necks, which are so continually met with in that kennel.

Forty-three or forty-four couples of working hounds certainly seem a very large body to perform only three days a week; but when we consider that nearly the whole of the Surrey hills is one bed of flints, some of them half as big as a man's head, and with edges as sharp as razors, it is very easy to imagine that three times a fortnight is quite sufficient work for the majority of hounds to perform, battered as their legs and feet must be in travelling across such distressing difficulties.

I had a long conversation, amongst other interesting topics, with Tom Hills about feeding; and he told me that he invariably fed upon biscuits, preferring it to any other description of feed that he had ever tried. He also said that, from his experience, he considered meal made from Indian corn the worst thing that could be used; moreover, he considers oatmeal (generally allowed by most huntsmen to be superior to all other meal for the purpose of feeding hounds) to be too loading and choking in its nature, and that the hounds' wind and condition are never so good as when they are fed entirely upon biscuit.

Now, all this is very well for a pack like the one we are writing about, which are only brought into the field, each pack in its turn, three times a fortnight; but let these hounds be taken down into the woodlands of the midland counties, away from the flint beds, and where they could really run fast enough (in some covers all day long) to tire themselves, I have no hesitation in saying that, with two and sometimes three days a week hunting, there being no flint-cuts to keep them on their benches, the biscuit-feed would all vanish like moonshine. I know it, for I have tried it, and that nothing would be found so good for supporting hounds through repeated long and tiring chases as good old oatmeal, mixed with a fair allowance of flesh and broth.

It is now upwards of forty years since Tom Hills was first entered to foxhounds, and with so much experience, especially in so difficult and trying a country as the one hunted by these hounds is, I should think that there are few huntsmen of the present day who could surpass him in his craft. He is a first-rate horseman, and, taking his weight into consideration, there is hardly a man, even of less than half his years, who can beat him in a run of any duration up and down the far-famed Surrey hills. He is well assisted in the field by two whippers-in, the first of whom is his son Peckham; he is an excellent hand, and promises, at some future time, to turn out as scientific a performer as his father has proved himself before him.

It has been justly remarked by some of the best judges of hunting in the world, that there are no good hunting countries south of Oxford, with the exception of that narrow strip known as "the Vale of White Horse," situated in the south-west of Berkshire. Nevertheless there are some twenty establishments located throughout the