Of course the steeple-chase, on its more general introduction amongst us, furnished no striking exception to so common a rule—an innovation pronounced as peculiarly the business of legs and dealers, could indeed scarcely be expected to offer any great hope or chance of gentlemen exhibiting their customary inferiority in attempting it. And yet when we come to consider the chief attributes of a steeple-chase star, it does seem a little odd, too, why gentlemen should not have from the first been freely permitted to test their prowess, if not even prove their su periority in the pastime. Courage, temper, skill, and practice, with an intimate knowledge of, and innate love for all pursuits connected with the horse, are the recommendations that call the cross-country jockgentle or simple to the scale. The gentleman, par excellence, should have them all; courage and coolness his very birthrights" the power to do, the soul to dare"-time, to practise himself in all amusements associated with equestrianism, the first privilege of the man born "with nothing to do," and inclination for horses; a feeling that every point of "precedent" must imbue him with. The gentleman of all times has been, in fact, quite distinguished by his prowess in connection with that noble animal the horse,' as the naturalists so justly designate him. His very titles expressed the bent of his genius, as in the Ippodomos of Homer, the Eques of Horace, or the Chivalry of our own early ages. A gentleman, then, ought to ride well, and not be content here with that indifferent excellence, on the strength of which masters of ceremonies proclaim that "no gentleman should dance too well." The elaborate length of his bow, or the studied stretch of his toe, might cause him to be mistaken for a dancing master; while, on the other part, the firmness of his seat, the lightness of his hand, and the resolution in his manner, can never detract from the bearing of the true gentleman. We might very possibly see him out-jockied by some pigmy in a struggle over the flat, when finesse and "gammoning" gave the half a head against him. In the dash and determination of the steeple-chase, however, one might have surely thought him at home, and so registered the sport accordingly, "as a pastime in which the English gentleman might not only indulge, but excel."

And lo! at length so has it happened. Time, that was to have furnished the rope in which steeple-chasing was to have perpetrated felo de se, has, strange to say, worked it out as peculiarly the sport of gentlemen. This has been clearly established by two great facts : imprimis, the gentleman jockey of the present day is as pure an aristocrat as can well be defined; his claims must have been proved in high places; his rank acknowledged "without one if or but," or vain his hope for that three pounds allowance which he shares with mares, geldings, and maiden horses. The gentleman jockey of the past was a pleasant fiction, attained like Molly Housemaid's kisses, on the simplest form of "ask and have." Anybody that wanted a mount assumed the character, and the world was far too polite to question his title to it. Quantum mutatus ab illo Hectore! the gentleman jockey is now in birth and breed inferior to none; the first part of the compound is really and truly carried out, while, as to the second, in actual performance, as a rider across country, again we may say he is inferior to none. The amateur for once equals the professional; from Captain Ross on Clinker, to Captain Peel on Chandler; from Lord Waterford on the Sea, to

Lord Strathmore on the Switcher, we fear not the comparison. Still the nearer we draw to recent doings, the better perhaps for the position we have taken. Shall not Powell on Salute vie in Calendar with Powell on Saladin? Or come at once to the age we live in, and take the pick of the basket on either side--have'nt we Rowlands for an Oliver any day?

So great, in fact, has been the success of the gentlemen latterly, that the public has risen up against them with a kind of spoil-sport argument. How, say the handicappers, are we to bring horses together, when your other regulations tend directly to upset what we have been doing? Some three or four of the very best and most practised horsemen select for their riding some of the safest acceptances in the stake, and then you back their, perhaps already too apparent, ability, by striking off five or seven pounds of the weights apportioned! Could you for a moment reason that such men as Captain Peel or Mr. Rowlands should, on any occasion, take in equity this amateur allowance? If you put the five pounds any way, would it not be rather on than off to bring them to terms with the rest of the field? To do away with the distinction altogether, would be impolitic and most likely injurious to the sport, as it might go to lessen that active participation in it by those who alone can afford it the most legitimate support. Let the untried still be invited in this way to test their own prowess, in preference to handing over the honours and the colours on all occasions to grooms or trainers. Let them get a taste for the tourney in this manner; and then let us, by public performance, regulate their accomplishments on something like fair play with all, high or low, with whom they may hereafter have to contend. A good suggestion to meet the now somewhat unsatisfactory working of this clause was given by a correspondent of one of the sporting papers a week or two since, in which it was advised that the allowance to a gentleman should be decreased after his winning one grand chase, and quite discontinued when he had followed this victory up with another of anything like equal importance. Untried or unsuccessful jockeys would so proceed in the same manner as untried or maiden horses; while the really good, thorough-bred jockey and thorough-bred nag might follow up their succession of success without any of that cavilling which has lately attended the otherwise brilliant career of the aristocrats.

We have made the gentleman jockey so far our theme, because he figures as the hero of our plate. If the liberality of his whisker and moustache do not at once point to the man on the grey as the gentleman to whom we allude, the courteous reader will have the kindness to recollect we introduced him at saddling time a month or two since, as an officer of the "heavies" come over special for the mount. To show, however, that a hairy mug is not essentially a sign of what the knowingly vulgar call "a nob," we may remark that the white cap sitting well back on the chesnut is also one Mr. Burke would class in the Patrician order. The broad stripe on the off side is an out-and-out professional-Mason, Oliver, Barker, "Bardolph nosed Bean," body else of that ilk to whom you fancy you can make out a likeness. Fourthly and lastly, the quartered cap with purple body and white sleeves, and the awkwardish, hampered seat, is a gentleman's servantout of place, we were nearly adding; for, take them as a body, we know

no class of the community that show to less advantage in public riding than the livery." They want the confidence and courage of the gentlemen, the practice and ability of the regulars.

And now-one, two, three, and away! as we once heard a Grandee actually start a field of horses, and off they sail at a pace that would have surprised many a King's plater of twenty years back.

Put 'em in pairs, and we'll take "the nobs."

THE BEAUFORT HOUNDS.

TO THE EDITOR.

SIR,-Permit me to trouble you with a few remarks on "Acteon's reply in your last number to my former letter.

He declares that he never said that "the Beaufort blood was nearly worn out and lost in the Heythrop pack," nor that " it did not flow in the veins of almost every hound.' I must quote his words which in'duced my remarks: "There is a great variety of blood in the kennel; a little of the Beaufort-but that is fast wearing out, more's the pity -the Duke of Rutland's, Mr. Drake's, and the Yarborough." tainly understood this to mean that there was an indifference shown to the Beaufort blood, and that it was being recklessly crossed away. "Actæon" says that he only meant that the Heythrop is not as fine a pack as the late Duke of Beaufort's was when he knew it. I am quite prepared to admit this. No one who knows how difficult it is to breed good hounds could expect that a pack got together, as I stated the Heythrop to have been, with a good foundation of only twenty-five couples from the Beaufort kennel, could be already as complete as the one from. which those twenty-five couples were taken, which had been carefully attended to for more than a century by a family of great wealth, and amply supplied with every accommodation for breeding and sending out any number of puppies. I agree with " Acteon" that such a comparison is invidious; but when he goes on to use the strong expression of "the character of the two packs is as different as light from darkness," I cannot agree with him, nor do many excellent judges with whom I am acquainted, who knew the old pack far more intimately than " Actæon." The change he "attributes to the numerous crosses from other packs, whose blood and character the present lot are imbibing." He will hardly deny that crosses are necessary. Can he name any preferable to those which have been chosen? And if the Heythrop pack has imbibed a little of the character of the Duke of Rutland's, Lord Yarborough's, and Mr. Drake's, while it retains that " stoutness in chase" which he admits to be inherent in the old Beaufort blood, few judges will consider that it is likely to be much hurt by so doing.

I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient servant,

A MEMBER OF THE HEYTHROP HUNT.

VARIETY IS CHARMING.

FOX-HUNTING AND STAG-HUNTING IN THE WILDS OF EXMOOR.

BY GELERT.

"The earth was made so various, that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change

And pleased with novelty, might be indulged."

Under every circumstance of fortune, and at all the stages of life, human nature leans to the influence of variety, and is swayed by her charms. No matter what the condition-youth or age, peer or peasant, from Sardanapalus to the boy Jones-all find attraction in the varied features which this Protean life is ever presenting. The sportsman enjoys variety to as full an extent, perhaps, as any class of mortals; indeed, nature implants in him the love of sport, and its produce springs up and blossoms, like the wild flowers of the forest, in all forms and colours. He hunts, shoots, and captures every animal in the creation-beasts, birds, and fishes-from Nova Zembla to Samarcand. He baits his hook with a kid, and catches a cayman in the Essequibo, or gaffs his sixty-pound salmon in the Namsen; he takes a boat, and sails up the Nile to the cataract, swimming, smoking, shooting his way up; sees Thebes, the old hundred-gated one; then falls back upon Smyrna, to revel with the fair Smyrniotes, fairer than Cleopatra; anon, he gets him to Ephesus, stands in the theatre, and gives three cheers for the great Diana; dines on Troy's Acropolis, and shoots over every acre of the plain; takes the Simois in his stride, and a header into the Scamander! Again, he is found on the banks of the Orange-river, boarding the giraffe and bombarding the hippopotamus, living in trees by night, in the saddle by day. Such are a few, and a very few, of his noble recreations when abroad. At home they are more circumscribed, but not less noble. Still, wide is the field and various the diversion which this country affords to the sportsman. The bill of fare is accommodated to men of all castes and habits; and poor must be the appetite which cannot find something good out of so varied and tempting a feast.

First and foremost, at the head of the list, stands fox-hunting-a science worthy of Cæsar. The fox among beasts is what old Homer described Agamemnon to be among heroes-"Avaž avôpwv.” A million a-year does not support him in this country; and THE NATIONALITY OF GREAT BRITAIN DEPENDS UPON HIS EXISTENCE. At a grand civic dinner lately given in the west of England, a learned judge got up and said, "He had heard a great deal that evening about the importance of agriculture, and the advantages it derived

from chemistry; but he was quite sure that fox-hunting promoted the welfare of the community in an almost equal degree. It consumed the produce of the farmer, encouraged the breed of horses, and induced men to spend large sums of money in their own country, the circulation of which could not but be beneficial to all around them." Thunders of applause ensued, in which every one at table joined, save a surly old peer who sat on the judge's left hand. He had been a vulpecide all his life, and now looked as if sentence had been passed upon him, and he were actually writhing under a pang of his own "gin and bitters." The fox has no greater enemy than the pheasant: the peer produces that in great abundance. I would gladly walk my toe-nails off, to shoot the last hen of the race in England.

But to proceed: Fox-hunting has its varieties. Every run has its distinguishing feature-Venus leads to-day, Mercury to-morrow; and the same run from any particular cover is scarcely seen twice in a man's life. The ground may be the same, but the incidents vary. To-day you draw Cornham brake, and find a fox "as wild as the winds:" he goes straight for thirty-five minutes, so straight that no horse can live with him ten minutes longer; the scent screeching, and the hounds running mute, Again, you throw your pack into that cover; and a dodger is found that defies description-a kind of baffler that beats hounds, horses, and intellect by his shifty and short running. There is, however, this satisfaction in fox-hunting: day after day you may find ten crooked ones, such as I last described; the scent may be so indifferent that your hounds cannot press them a yard, and every obstacle may occur to mar and defeat the sport of the field but you find No. 2, and he is a one-er. All griefs are at an end; blanks and bygones no longer remembered, and the excitement of the moment thrills through your whole soul, and casts a weight into the scale that tells wondrously in favour of the noble and ecstatic science. One brilliant and bursting run may be fairly taken as compensation for the blanks of a whole season:

"Such is the cry,

And such th' harmonious din, the soldier deems
The battle kindling, and the statesman grave
Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex,

In the wild transport joins. Luxuriant joy,

And pleasure in excess, sparkling exult

On every brow, and revel unrestrained.

How happy art thou, man, when thou'rt no more
Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul,
In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost,

Yield a short interval, and ease from pain!"

The variation of scent, too, on the same soil and with the same weather, is a mystery that has puzzled and ever will puzzle the best craftsman. Invention has been sorely taxed to account for this fact; but ages have past, and much has been written on the subject since it was first mooted, yet it has never been satisfactorily explained. The soil may, and probably does, continue the same, year after year, espe cially in woodlands or a wild district; but when the scent changes in apparently settled weather, I doubt not but at that moment some imperceptible change takes place in the atmosphere, and though it be