10 T Liverp. Cup D. Gent. of Surrey &s 8 12 11 F [Sussex pl. G.of Eng. at Ken. Ov.r 3 59 12 S Harrow, M.C.C. P.v. Harrovians. s 8 11 1011 51 8 50 9 20 13 Eighth Sunday after Trinity.r 4 14 M Lords', Gent. Kent & Sussex v. Gt. s 8 SIR CHARLES KNIGHTLEY, BART., FAWSLEY PARK, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE. The country-life, the country-homes, and, above all, the countrygentlemen of England, have long been to foreigners objects of envy and admiration, which they strive to imitate in vain. They are as well aware as we can be ourselves that our institutions owe much of their stability to these peculiar features of English society; but with all their anxiety to adopt the same habits and reap the same advantages, there is some ingredient wanting in the corresponding class of every other nation, which makes the English country gentleman stand alone, like one of the oaks in his own park, a rare specimen of native vigour, judicious cultivation, and advantageous position. We should much like to walk one of our least enthusiastic foreign friends through the park at Fawsley, the picturesque seat of Sir Charles Knightley, whose likeness so appropriately adorns the present number of our magazine. We should like to show him the magnificent old oaks, rich with the accumulated growth of centuries, and in this glorious summer-time spreading upwards in the sunlight into a perfect fairly-land of beauty-the undulating park dotted with deer, now clustering under some giant of the forest, now filing leisurely down to the calm bright water, only disturbed by the dip of a swallow, or the lazy plash of a half-gorged pike-the distant meadows rippled with new-mown hay, melting into the haze of a July noon, and the trim gardens and pleasure-grounds dark with evergreens or bright with flowers. If he be a poet or a painter (and nine men out of ten are one or other in their hearts, although, heaven be praised! the faculty seldom develops itself into colours or verse), he may drink in beauty till his eyes are dazzled and his brain swims--if he be an antiquarian and a historian, we will bring him to the fine old house, and fill him full of romantic records and soul-stirring memorials of the olden time. He has read of the Gunpowder Plot; he has heard of Catesby and his comrades; nor is Guido Fawkes necessarily connected in his mind with a dislocated figure carried to and fro by a troop of shouting urchins on the fifth of November. These bold conspirators used to meet at Fawsley, and the room is still in existence which enclosed that council of dark, desperate men. He is acquainted with the cause and progress of our great Rebellion, and Cavalier and Roundhead are no empty nicknames in his ear. The Knightleys of the Seventeenth Century were then stout partizans of liberty, as they have since been staunch supporters of the throne. The history of the family would fill a volume-the stock has always been good-its scions sans peur et sans reproche, and the present baronet is no unworthy representative of his race. Sir Charles Knightley was born Anno Domini 1781, and is consequently now in his 76th year, a fact which will scarcely be credited by those who witness his still graceful seat and pliant figure as he canters along on a thorough-bred hack to inspect his farm or visit his tenantry, at seven o'clock on a cold winter's morning. These early hours, added to temperate habits and constant out-of-door exercise, have probably been the means of preserving intact his excellent constitution up to an advanced period of life. He received the usual education of an English gentleman, passing from Rugby to Christ Church, Oxford, in the customary manner. A process of hardening first, and polishing afterwards, which best fits the stone for its setting in after-life. But Sir Charles was not of the stuff which settles quietly down into a mere drone in the hive. He inherited the mettle of his ancestors; and when our country was threatened with invasion, in the year of panic, 1801, we find him joining the militia, and doing duty with that force until all fear of aggression from our unruly neighbours had passed away. In those days, as now, fox-hunting was the favourite pastime-nay, with the young almost the engrossing business of the winter months; and Sir Charles was too well situated for its pleasures, not to become an ardent votary of the chase. He was young, spirited, full of energy, and a brilliant rider; for many years Northamptonshire rung with the daring feats and excellent horsemanship of the famous Knightley "Vixere fortes ante Agamem nona," we do not mean to assert that both before and after his time there have not been many sportsmen distinguished for their performances over a country; but we do maintain that amongst Sir Charles Knightley's contemporaries we find the majority of those names which we have always been taught to consider the ornaments of the hunting-field. Lord Jersey, Messrs. Assheton Smith, Musters, Cholmondeley, Cooke, Lindow, Germaine, and a host of first-flight men, were in the constant habit of meeting each other, either with the Quorn or Pytchley hounds; and in those days, as now, the chivalry of the shires were ever ready to bring science, skill, and daring into play, for the avowed object of "being in the same field with the hounds," and the inward motive of going "a turn better than their neighbours." We have always heard that the Northamptonshire baronet was second to none; nay, on more than one occasion, and even when not mounted on Benvolio, "all alone in his glory." Of this famous hunter, avowedly the best Sir Charles ever owned, we must say a few words. Like his master, he was quite thorough-bred; but unlike the man, the horse seems only to have had an acquired taste for hunting, and to have shown, on his first introduction to the chase, a very determined antipathy to following hounds. Patience and good usage, however, will succeed when all else fails, particularly with a well-bred one. Sir Charles took the young horse out by himself one fine morning, when living at the famous club at Pytchley, and endeavoured to bring him to reason-in vain; stock still he stood; no power could induce him to jump a fence. The rider came home to luncheon somewhat disgusted, but not discouraged. After a glass of Madeira, he brought him out again, still patient, good-tempered, and persevering. The animal, that would have resisted coercion to |