nd Sir Saville Crossley, At the second fence the grey led by some eighty yards, the order being as above. Going down into the vale, Mr. Mildmay, who was first favourite, ran up second, but fell at the brook, which the others negotiated safely; Mr. Elliott Lees then taking second place, Sir Saville Crossley third, and Mr. Muntz fourth, and this order was maintained for the next mile, when Lord Ernest Hamilton, on Mr. Herman Hodge's Lady Evelyn, joined the leading division. Mr. Mildmay, too, once more got forward, but his horse refusing, when in the road, put him again out of the running, although he struggled up towards the finish, and Mr. Herman Hodge did likewise. Mr. Pease pursued throughout his starting tactics of making the running, closely attended by Mr. Elliott Lees, taking a long lead of the rest. The latter, challenging on Damon about two fields from home, had Nora Creina settled at once, and won easily by lengths. Lord Ernest Hamilton, on Lady Evelyn, was third, the others who were close up being Sir Saville Crossley, Mr. Herman Hodge, Mr. Muntz, and Mr. Mildmay. At some distance there followed Mr. Walter Long, who, being first of the heavy weights, won the 14 st. race, although he fell at the first fence, but was quickly remounted and going again. Mr. Wyndham was second; and Mr. Jarvis (who had a nasty fall a mile from home), riding The Don, one of Mr. Herman Hodge's horses, was third. Mr. Flower's No Name and Mr. Lawson's Hedgehog fell. After this there was a capital farmers' race, with a most exciting finish between Mr. Martin's Chuckle, ridden by Mr. Drage, and Mr. Goodman's Jewseye.

Point-to-Point.

123

Many are the steeplechases it has been our luck to The Hertfordshire take part in and attend; but now when gout, not to say obesity, keeps us out of the saddle, and from the autumn days of life we look back over the years that are fled, we can call to mind no jollier little réunion than the one that took place under the auspices of Mr. Sworder and the members of the Hertfordshire Hunt, at Friars Wash, on April 17th. The course selected, nearly all grass, on the land of Mr. Cox and Mr. Sibley, was certainly not of the break-neck order,

although it was whispered some of the jockeys did complain of the brook, which-tell it not in Gath-was neither very wide or very deep. Truth to say, the jockeyship was not of the most scientific order, always excepting a few of the light-weight division in the Subscribers' Race. The Light-weight Farmers' Race brought ten into the starters' hands, and was won, after a good finish, by Mr. Kirkby's Jimmy Lucas, ridden by Cheddells; Mr. Crisp's Fairy being second, and Mr. King's Ouida third. Then came the Members' Steeplechase for two cups; heavy weights 14st., light weights 12st. 7lb., all started together. The entries reached the astonishing number of thirty-seven, and twenty-five came to the post. Although started at the same time, the welters having the advantage of the front rank, it soon resolved itself into two distinct races, the 12st. 7lb. lot going nearly two yards to the others' one. Lord Kilcoursie won on Half Holiday, but Mr. Crawley all but caught him on the post on Priest, and another two yards would have altered the verdict, so close was it. Then came the heavy division, with Mr. Seymour on Mr. Cathie's Whitcoat in front, and Mr. Millington on Mr. Gosling's Upperhand second to him. The Heavy-weight Farmers' Race was won in a canter by Mr. Cheddells or Mr. Cox's Duchess of Connaught II., Mr. Sibley's Misfit being second.

The Queen's
Staghounds.

On the 11th these had a red letter day to finish the season. New Lodge and its hospitality did not allow of hounds being laid on till 1 p.m., when they made westward, and the deer was taken at Maiden Erleigh, ten miles as the crow flies. Here another was uncarted, and speedily made its way across the Thames near the Kennet's mouth. Harvey was well up, and with the experience of Bond to help, was soon ferried across with the hounds; a feat which always recalls poor Sir Charles Slingsby and his attempted passage of the Ure. Away for Caversham Park, Emmer Green, Chalk House Farm, Bishopslands, Shiplake Bottom, where the deer seemed making for Wyfold; but a woman drawing water at a well turned it, and it went straight for Henley, by way of Peppard Church, the resident at Blount's Court joining in for the final gallop, which finished after 7 p.m. The hounds had not much left in them, for this second run was not less than thirteen miles, and Harvey's horse was quite done up. Roake, of the South Berks, had got a second horse on going through Reading, and considering the day, forty horse men and women were a good muster at Emmer Green, though many fell out afterwards.

The South Berks
Hounds.

On the 5th April these hounds met at Streatley to wind up the season. As usual, Mr. Fletcher produced succulent meats and the purest of drinks for the master and other members of the Hunt. At twelve they trotted off to the large wood to the north-west, called, as we believe, Hunhill; and after a good deal of working, roused a good fox, that gave them a thundering burst. Rarely have we seen hounds. and horsemen go at such a pace, with a burning sun and the driest of ground. Apparently they were going for Aldworth, but the fox must have got a great deal to the right of that old village, with its curious yew-tree, for the last we heard of them, being thrown out.

Hounds.

ourselves, was that they had got into the Craven country, and that the master had ordered the hounds to be whipped off. It has been a poor season, with only seventeen brace of foxes accounted for, of which we fancy but one fox hailed from the Oxfordshire side. It would not be in the interests of true sport if facts were hidden, but that there is a deep regret represents fairly the general feeling of the Hunt. April 8th, followers of these hounds were invited The Savernake Stag to come to Hungerford, and two deer were in readiness to afford the sport. Of these, the first made rather a ring of it, and was retaken, but the second gave a rattling gallop of-well, say fourteen miles. Anyway, those of the field who were at all "up" got well within view of Salisbury spire, and had to dollop back along sixteen miles to Hungerford to get into their horse-boxes. These hounds ought to have a future, miserably supported as they have been up to the present time. We do not like to speak of the minimum subscription which has kept them going this season, but considering the grand country they hunt over, the absolute affection that the farmers have for them, each vieing with the other to have the meet at his homestead, it is a shame that such a country and hounds should not receive more consideration. When you reflect that here you are out of the way of the "bounders" of great cities, that the country is superb, the hounds good, etc., we say again that it is a shame that they are not taken up by a dozen sportsmen, at a hundred pounds a piece, to carry them on. £300 is too miserable for such a fine pack and such a superb country!

Lord Rothschild's

Hounds.

These hounds brought a capital season to a conclusion on April 2nd, when the meet was at Aston Abbots. As is always the case towards the end of the season, we had a very large field out, as our regular men were reinforced by fresh faces from all the neighbouring countries. Lord Rothschild himself was not out, so Mr. Leopold took command, and turned out the deer on the land of Mr. Roads, of Norduck. He gave the deer but a short law, and as the hounds in the first little ring were allowed plenty of room to settle, they were able to carry a better head and maintain a greater pace than anyone would have imagined under the circumstances. As soon as the field saw how matters went, the spirit of listlessness which held possession of them at first, was cast off, timber was jumped, fences crashed through, and horses rattled over the grass to Mr. Manning's farm. The pack swept on by Wing Mill to Mr. Underwood's farm, where they were stopped to let up stragglers. Laid on again below Burcott, they led the horsemen over the small enclosures. After skirting the park there, they ran up to their deer near Soulbury. On the hard clay lands to the left of Newton Longville the hounds had to come to their noses, and having worked out a short ring in the direction of Salden most beautifully, they set their deer up to bay in a pond, and terminated a brilliant run of about one hour and twenty minutes, thus putting a capital finish to the season.

The news that Lord Portsmouth from ill-health Retirement of Lord has felt himself compelled to give up his hounds Portsmouth. and break up his hunting establishment, was sore news for all good men in the West country. How long

the noble lord and good sportsman, in the highest sense of the term, has hunted the North Devon country, and what good blood has been sought and found in the Eggesford kennels, we need not say, and sorry indeed are we for the cause that disperses horse and hound. The Duke of Beaufort, than whom is no finer judge, has bought the big pack for 1,500 guineas, and Sir Watkin Wynn takes the small pack to Wynnstay, for, we believe, a similar sum. What will be the future of Lord Portsmouth's country we are unable to say, but we trust the old hunt uniform will still be seen in North Devon, and the Eggesford kennels still hold the hounds.

Mr. Race.

We often hear that there is nothing like hunting for promoting good-feeling and bringing all classes of society together. The truth of this axiom was perhaps never better exemplified than on April 11th, at Biggleswade, when all the neighbourhood assembled to do honour to their veteran Master of Harriers, Mr. George Race, on his completing his jubilee season. How many men have attained to their fiftieth season with the horn at their saddle bow we cannot say; but will vouch for it that their numbers must be few indeed, and Mr. Race has done this in the country, and that country inherited, as we may say, from his father, who was second master of the pack, and tried many kinds of hounds before deciding on the sort which he eventually handed on to his son, who has raised them to a point of excellence probably never attained in a harrier kennel before. The testimonial consisted of a handsome gold chronometer, with a suitable inscription on the fly lid, together with a purse containing the surplus of the subscriptions; and what we feel sure will be treasured more than all, a list of the subscribers thereto, a very long one it is, as the amount allowed was designedly kept low, that Mr. Race's humbler friends might have the chance of doing him equal honour with their richer neighbours. Lord Hardwicke, who has been a good supporter of the pack in the matter of finding land and hares, took the chair at the luncheon, and made the presentation in that cheery spirit which such a good sportsman as his lordship so well understands. It was Mr. Race's reply, however, which took the company assembled by storm, and showed us what a manysided man he is. We must say that to hear that fine old sportsman, whose every tone and gesture told how truly what he said came spontaneously from the heart, was indeed a treat such as we have seldom enjoyed. How few men over eighty years of age could undergo such an ordeal and come out of it as Mr. Race! Well may we join in the hope he himself expressed, that, with the help of Mr. Hope, who now carries the horn for him, he may be able to show his friends a few seasons' more sport yet ere going into absolute retirement, and abandoning the chase altogether.

The End of the
Season.

Foxhunting faded quietly out during the earlier half of the month past, save and except in the cool moist recesses of the New Forest, where hound-music will be heard even after these lines are in print. Great sport has ere this been known in April, but more often after a frozen winter, as if to make up for shortcomings. No such deficiency could be attributed to the truly wondrous season of weather and scent just ended. So April owed nothing and gave little. Few good runs

were recorded, and dust and sunshine, more appropriate to March, had things pretty well their own way. The Grafton finished a great season very satisfactorily in the woods; the Pytchley, who had shown almost equal sport during the winter, put up the shutters somewhat earlier; and the Quorn completed a season that has known no equal for seven years past, with two very sporting runs from Baggrave and Gartree Hill, and with a charming day from the classic Coplow, a stiffened fox being held aloft on each of the latter occasions. Mr. Fernie had some nice sport to the end, and has scored a second good season, and Lord Willoughby de Broke has shown the same sterling and consistent sport that has characterised the Warwickshire for several years. The Fitzwilliam, under Mr. Wickham, and with Payn as huntsman, have had a season that ranks with any since the brilliant era of Lord Huntly and George Carter. The Rufford, too, have a catalogue of good items to show for the first season of Mr. Rolleston's taking mastership and horn. The above packs go into summer quarters, bearing the chief laurels of the winter '89, '90, in Mid-England.

The death of this gallant officer-no empty phrase General Goodlake. this time has evoked such genuine regret, and called forth so many sympathising notices, that we feel there is little left for us to say. But, as one who has experienced many kindly little acts at the hands of the deceased General, it must be permitted to the Van Driver to add his small tribute of regret and esteem to the many strewed on his too early grave. A preux chevalier indeed, one like Bayard, without fear and without reproach, was General Goodlake. An athlete at Eton, he was a brave and skilful soldier soon after he had attained his majority. It was in 1855, that by holding a ravine against a much superior Russian force, he gained the Victoria Cross, and surely the words inscribed on the wreath, laid on his coffin by his life-long friend, Sir John Astley, "In memory of the best and bravest of pals," had a signification even beyond the noble words, for the dead man possessed one of those loveable natures that drew everyone within the circle of his large acquaintance to him. Like many another brave man, he was gentle and kindly in manner, and the milk of human kindness was certainly his. Sir John Astley's tribute only told what many of us knew, that he was as staunch in friendship as he was generous and brave—

"A courtier in the chamber, a soldier in the field,

Whose tongue could never flatter, and whose heart could never yield."

This epitaph on an old world worthy-and our readers will please accept the term courtier in its highest and best meaning-might be repeated on General Goodlake's honoured grave.

Mr. Joseph Tollit.

What memories this name conjures up, before the minds of old Oxford men, need hardly be said. In the forties and they were to many of us “roaring forties"-or, to say the truth, a year or two before, 1837-8, Charley Symonds, Joe Tollit, and Ned Wheeler, were, with Seckham, the leading livery-stable keepers. The latter was more famous for his hacks than hunters, and no faster trotters could be desired