'Poor Ned Wilson, who turned the hounds to Backhouse, was a ' quiet, civil fellow, and fine horseman ; he died in Mr. Hall's service, ' of consumption, in 1869.

Amongst the prominent men now going in Holderness, are Sir Talbot Constable of Burton Constable, Sir Henry Boynton of Burton Agnes, Lord Herries and his son, Mr. Maxwell of Evering'ham Park, Mr. W. B. H. Broadley of Welton, M.P. for the East Riding, Mr. Christopher Sykes of Brantingham Thorp, Rev. Cecil 'Legard of Boynton, Capt. Grimston of Grimston Garth, Mr. WilC liam Grimston of Etton, Rev. C. S. Atkinson of Harswell, Hon. 'Mr. Stourton of Holme Hall, Capt. Brooksbank of Middleton, 'Mr. H. T. Constable of Wassand, Mr. John Dixon of Nofferton, 'Mr. John Harrison of Heighholme, Mr. Jonathan Harrison of 'Brands Burton, and Capt. Tilford of Tickton.

The following farmers are all good men and true:-Mr. 'Henry Lambert of Middleton, a very hard man, whose daughter, a few years ago, rode wonderfully, well known in Lord Yarborough's hunt, Mr. John Danby of Weadley, as good as any 'man, Mr. Tom Danby of Routh, Mr. J. Whiting of Routh, Mr. Whiting Barber of Routh, Mr. Tom Whiting of Leven, Mr. J. Jackson of Riston Grange, Jonathan Harrison of Brands 'Burton, Robert Wheatley of Catfoss, W. H. Fewson of Welwick, 'Mr. James Holiday of Oustwick, Mr. William Hudson of Brigham, Matthew Stephenson of Barmston, Samuel Botteril of Market Weighton, George Harrison of Gembeling, Richard Botteril of Wandby, Botteril Hudson of Harpham, George Jarritt of Harpham, Robert Fisher of Leckonfield, John Crompton of Thouholme.

William Duggelby of Beswick, and last, though by no means. least, the celebrated Mr. John Holiday of Barmston, who has hunted for forty years, and during that period has had his shoulder 'put out no less than thirteen times. He is well known with the 'Holderness, Bramham Moor, Lord Middleton's, as well as with the Belvoir, where he has astounded some of the Meltonians by his ' resolute style of riding; and he was in Lord Kesteven's last great 'run with the Cottesmore, when Judd, the whip, got a fall which 'killed his horse, and all the men were down. He was also well to 'the fore in Mr. Hall's great run from Askham Bogs, and on his 'old mare jumped one of the biggest fences up hill we ever saw 'taken, but

"Whatever the country, John Holiday still

Rides up to this motto, Be with them, I will.' Mr. Jessop, brother-in-law of poor Mr. E. Robinson, who was 'drowned, sent the latter's spurs as a souvenir to Mr. Holiday.' What about the owners of coverts and fox preservers?'

First, Mr. Bethell of Rise Park owns nearly all the best coverts in Holderness, then Mr. H. S. Constable of Wassand, Sir H. 'Boynton of Burton Agnes, Col. F. Quinton of Lowthorpe, Mr. R. Richardson of Meux Abbey, Mr. Harrison of Heighholme Hall, all 'take care of the animal.

'On the Wold side are Mr. John Grimston of Neswick, Mr. M. • Grimston of Kilnwick, Mr. E. H. Reynard of Sunderlandwick, 'Lord Hotham of South Dalton Hall, Sir James Walker of Sand Hutton, Lord Muncaster of Warter Priory, Lord Herries, a great 'owner on this side, and a good man, Mr. W. Rudston Read of Hayton, Admiral Duncombe of Kilnwick Percy are all on the right 'side, though rumour says some of the Wold coverts are not so well preserved as they might be. Amongst the farmers who have coverts, which they strictly preserve, are the Holidays, R. Danby of Routh, a stick cover, J. Carr, W. Hudson, and others. The 'field is composed principally of farmers, who are such staunch preservers, that it was formerly said they would not have a fox 'killed even with hounds if they could save his life. They would 'be disgusted with the modern mobbing murders, and with hunts'men who don't care how a fox is killed so that they can score ' another nose on the kennel door. They have long been noted for having good horses well done; and no men are keener sportsmen 'or ride harder. The kennels, since Mr. Hodgson gave up, have 'been at Etton, near Cherry Burton Station. But the situation is 'not first-rate.'

'What about accommodation?'

Beverley is most central, and good quarters can be obtained at 'the Beverley Arms; private lodgings and stabling are also plentiful; but the visitor will find little to amuse him on non-hunting days, as it is a dull, lifeless place. The Bell Hotel at Driffield is a "good house; it is kept by Mrs. Kirby, the widow of Mr. Kirby, 'who owned Treasure Trove, winner of the Metropolitan Stakes in 1866, and other good horses. The Keys, also a very good house, is kept by Mr. Hopper. From here you can get plenty of hunting-two days a week with Lord Middleton, and generally 'three or four with the Holderness. I know of no other places that I could recommend, though there is good wild-fowl shooting ● to be had at Hull.'

To his grassy kennel, where no man can see;
There, curled securely,

With one eye demurely

Half open, and surely both his ears awake,
He takes his forty

Winks, and dreams of naughty

Excursions in the evening when the bright stars break!

Oh, fur so dandy,
Grey, brown, or sandy!

Oh, cunning handy in each hour of need!
Through song and story
Old theme of glory,

Oh, heart set for stoutness!

Oh, limbs for speed!

That brush shall draggle,
Those limbs shall straggle,

That swift foot lag, till it can hardly crawl,
The straight back bent be,
The bright look spent be,

But the spirit unbeaten though the frame may fall!

They have drawn the spinneys,

Where the broom and whin is;

But it all too thin is, and too near the park ;
And the fir plantations,

Scene of keepers' patience,

And of wild sensations, as they echo, Mark!'
And then that hedgerow,

Where the grass and sedge grow,

And the hounds scarce wedge through the briars thick. But he is not here, sir,

And

you

Though they know he's near, sir;

need not fear, sir, but they'll find him quick!

See, across yon heather,

Old Trueman feather,

As if thinking whether to let fall a note,
Yooi there! drag on him,

Good hounds, get on him!

A prince to a peasant he is hereabout!
But the sage, though he lashes
His stern, and dashes,

Will lead no flashes till 'tis time to speak.
The young blood's ready,

But the old is steady,

And will walk the line out, if it last a week!
I love that covert,
Where the plaintive plover

And the wild hawk hover, far away from sight;
Where the hassock island

Is the only dry land,

Fit home for the sly hand that shuns the light! 'Tis there the tussle

Through yonder rushes, and goes off at speed.

No need of warning

That, perchance, no dawning will be more for him;
So his pace will quicken,

Though his breath may thicken,

And his head sets straight for the cliffs so grim!
The shepherd views him,

And loud halloos him

He would fain abuse him for olden scores,
The gudewife cackles,

And undoes the shackles,

The dog sets his hackles, and the donkey roars!
At a plough-team heading,
Through oxen threading

His way, little dreading their friendly stain,
The fox each meuse nicks;

'Tis no time to use tricks;

He will live if he only the Downs can gain!

How they put the pace on,
As for blood they race on!

The field may chase on, all behind to-day;
Now catch the beauties,

When their music mute is,

Can you over-ride them, you freely may !
In the fallows tailing,
On the hill-side failing,

No more gay sailing for coach slow or crack!
They've killed him alone, sir!

To their praise let us own, sir,

We are beaten to a standstill by the gallant pack!

THE DAYS OF OLD.'

A FRAGMENT.

COME, fill again!' said Sir Herbert Lee to his friend, Everard Duncombe. You do scant justice to our cheer to-night.'

The latter had scarcely raised a goblet of ruby wine to his lips by way of answer, when

Old Ralph would speak with you, Sir Herbert!' exclaimed the white-headed seneschal, breaking in more unceremoniously on their tête-à-tête than was his wont.

• Admit him. What wouldest thou with us, Ralph ?'

I bring good news, Sir Herbert. John has harboured in Eveley Brake a stag of ten.'

Ah! say you so? that is good news indeed. Such game has 'been somewhat of the scarcest with us lately. Have either of you 'seen him?'

No; but as yesterday I rode across the downs from Anton'whither I had gone for some new couplings-a shepherd told me 'his dog roused such a one from out the gorse five miles from here. He said it was a noble beast, and from his marks the one now harboured must be the same: his slot is broad and deep.'

That speaks him an old and heavy deer.'

John swears a stag of ten.'

May he prove so! Quaff this cup of wine to our success; he should show us noble sport-see that all our neighbours are 'advised of this. We meet soon after break of day, and shall expect them here to drink a cup ere starting for the chase.'

*

Morning had scarcely broken over Houghton Hall when the reveille, summoning the inmates to prepare for the sport of the day, and ere Sir Herbert and his guest had finished a substantial breakfast, the tramp of hoofs was heard through the courtyard without. Neighbours and friends came trooping in apace; those whose station entitled them to the honour were ushered into the hall, not, indeed, to break their fast publicly, as would have been the case in more modern times, for each had gone through that genial occupation ere leaving home, but to quaff a morning draught, and drink success to the undertaking. Many a stout yeoman, either mounted or on foot, bathed his lip in the foaming cup, which the old butler freely dispensed to those whose want of rank, or modesty, kept them without.

Sir Herbert welcomed cordially his guests; and, of course, the harboured deer was the chief subject of conversation.

I saw your forester this morning, Herbert,' said stout Sir Roger Sharp. By his account this deer's a perfect monster hearing him bell last night, and he crept cautiously out and 'watched; such a stag he never saw before, nor antlers of such size.' 'He had been rolling in the meadows where the water overflowed; and, certainly, the mark he left is large, and so is his slot. 'I both as I this morning came across the ford,' said young Lord

Saw

Harry Motson.

"Well, let's to horse, and see who first can bring this stag to bay!' exclaimed Sir Herbert, as, moving across the hall, he beckoned for Randolf, his favourite steed, to be brought forth, and patted him fondly ere placing foot in stirrup; while the horse, neighing faintly, turned his velvet nose and smelt his master's hand, as if to answer the caress.

6

You still hold by the light-limbed sort?' remarked Sir Roger.
Ay! indeed, I do; while Eastern blood is to be had I ride no