And when at full speed the pink

And when at full speed the pink

And when at full speed the pink

And when at full speed the pink, green, brown, and black-coated followers of any of the ninety packs which our England maintains, sweep through a village, with what intense delight the whole population turn out! Young mothers stand at the doors, holding up their crowing babies; the shopkeeper, with his customers, adjourns to the street; the windows of the school are covered with flattened noses; the parson, if of the right sort, smiles blandly, and waves his hand from the porch of the vicarage to half-a-dozen friends; while the surgeon pushes on his galloway and joins for half-an-hour; all the little boys holla in chorus, and run on to open gates without expecting sixpence. As for the farmers, those who do not join the hunt criticise the horseflesh, speculate on the probable price of oats, and tell ‘Missis’ to set out the big round of beef, the bread, the cheese, and get ready to draw some strong ale, in case of a check, some of the gentlemen might like a bit as they come back.

Tally-ho! Fox-hunting, one of the fine arts.

Tally-ho! Fox-hunting, one of the fine arts.

Tally-ho!

Fox-hunting, I maintain, is entitled to be considered one of the fine arts, standing somewhere between music and dancing. For ‘Tally-ho!’ like the favourite evening gun of colonising orators, has been ‘carried round the world.’ The plump mole-fed foxes of the neutral ground of Gibraltar have fled from the jolly cry; it has been echoed back from the rocky hills of our island possessions in the Mediterranean; it has startled the jackal on the mountains of the Cape, and his red brother on the burning plains of Bengal; the wolf of the pine forests of Canada has heard it, cheering on fox-hounds to an unequal contest; and even the wretched dingoe and the bounding kangaroo of ‘Australia have learned to dread the sound.

In our native land ‘Tally-ho!’ is shouted and welcomed in due season by all conditions of men; by the ploughman, holding hard his startled colt; by the woodman, leaning on his axe before the half-felled oak; by bird-boys from the tops of leafless trees; even Dolly Dumpling, as she sees the white-tipped brush flash before her market-cart in a deep-banked lane, stops, points her whip and in shrill treble screams "Tally-ho!"

Under the pseudonym of Uncle Scribble

Under the pseudonym of Uncle Scribble

Under the pseudonym of Uncle Scribble

Another clergyman, under the pseudonym of Uncle Scribble, contributed to the pages of the Sporting Magazine an admirable series of photographs to adopt a modern word of hunting and hunting men, as remarkable for dry wit and common sense, as a thorough knowledge of sport. But Uncle Scribble, as the head of a most successful Boarding School, writes no more.

I may perhaps be pardoned for concluding my hints on hunting, by re-quoting from Household Words an Apology for Fox-hunting, which, at the time I wrote it, received the approbation, by quotation, of almost every sporting journal in the country. It will be seen that it contains a sentence very similar to one to be found in Mr. Rarey’s Horse Training A bad-tempered man cannot be a good horseman.

Which are both vulgar and unnecessary

Which are both vulgar and unnecessary

Which are both vulgar and unnecessary

There are many other terms in common use too plain to need explanation, and there are a good many slang phrases to be found in newspaper descriptions of runs, which are both vulgar and unnecessary. One of the finest descriptions of a fox-hunt ever written is to be found in the account of Jorrocks’ day with the Old Customer, disfigured, unfortunately, by an overload of impossible cockneyisms, put in the mouth of the impossible grocer. Another capitally-told story of a fox-hunt is to be found in Whyte Melville’s Kate Coventry. But the Rev. Charles Kingsley has, in his opening chapter of Yeast, and his papers in Fraser on North Devon, shown that if he chose he could throw all writers on hunting into the shade. Would that he would give us some hunting-songs, for he is a true poet, as well as a true sportsman!

Slack Indifferent A succession of bad

Slack Indifferent A succession of bad

Slack Indifferent A succession of bad

Slack. Indifferent. A succession of bad days, or a slack huntsman, will make hounds slack.

Streaming. An expressive word applied to hounds in full cry, or breast high and mute, streaming away.

Speaks. When a hound throws his tongue he is said to speak; and one word from a sure hound makes the presence of a fox certain.

Throw up. When hounds lose the scent they throw up their heads. A good sportsman always takes note of the exact spot and cause, if he can, to tell the huntsman.

Tailing. The reverse of streaming. The result of bad scent, tired hounds, or an uneven pack.

Throw off. After reaching the meet, at the master’s word the pack is thrown into cover, hence throw off.

When the hounds hunt anything beside fox

When the hounds hunt anything beside fox

When the hounds hunt anything beside fox

Riot. When the hounds hunt anything beside fox, the word is Ware Riot.

Skirter. A hound which is wide of the pack, or a man riding wide of the hounds, is called a skirter.

Stroke of a fox. Is when hounds are drawing. It is evident, from their manner, that they feel the scent of a fox, slashing their stern significantly, although they do not speak to it.

Sinking. A fox nearly beaten is said to be sinking.

Sinking the wind. Is going down wind, usually done by knowing sportsmen to catch the cry of the hounds.

Stained. When the scent is lost by cattle or sheep having passed over the line.

Stooping. Hounds stoop to the scent.

Or foolish jealous horsemen so surround a cover

Or foolish jealous horsemen so surround a cover

Or foolish jealous horsemen so surround a cover

Mobbing a fox. Is when foot passengers, or foolish jealous horsemen so surround a cover, that the fox is driven into the teeth of the hounds, instead of being allowed to break away and show sport.

Mute. When the pace is great hounds are mute, they have no breath to spare; but a hound that is always mute is as useless as a rich epicure who has capital dinners and eats them alone. Hounds that do not help each other are worthless.

Noisy. To throw the tongue without scent is an opposite and equal fault to muteness.

Open. When a hound throws his tongue, or gives tongue, he is said to open.

Owning a scent. When hounds throw their tongues on the scent.

Pad. The foot of a fox.

When a huntsman carries the pack forward from an indifferent

When a huntsman carries the pack forward from an indifferent

When a huntsman carries the pack forward from an indifferent

Lifting. When a huntsman carries the pack forward from an indifferent, or no scent, to a place the fox is hoped to have more recently passed, or to a view halloo. It is an expedient found needful where the field is large, and unruly, and impatient, oftener than good sportsmen approve.

Laid up. When a vixen fox has had cubs she is said to have laid up.

Metal. When hounds fly for a short distance on a wrong scent, or without one, it is said to be all metal.

Moving scent. When hounds get on a scent that is fresher than a drag, it is called a moving scent; that is, the scent of a fox which has been disturbed by travelling.

And is met and driven back to cover

And is met and driven back to cover

And is met and driven back to cover

Headed. When a fox is going away, and is met and driven back to cover. Jealous riders, anxious for a start, are very apt to head the fox. It is one of the greatest crimes in the hunting-field.

Heel. When hounds get on the scent of a fox, and run it back the way he came, they are said to be running heel.

Hold hard. A cry that speaks for itself, which every one who wishes for sport will at once attend to when uttered by the huntsman.

Holding scent. When the scent is just good enough for hounds to hunt a fox a fair pace, but not enough to press him.

Kennel. Where a fox lays all day in cover.

Line holders. Hounds which will not go a yard beyond the scent.

Left-handed. A hunting pun on hounds that are not always right.

Dwelling When hounds do not come up

Dwelling When hounds do not come up

Dwelling When hounds do not come up

Dwelling. When hounds do not come up to the huntsman’s halloo till moved by the whipper-in, they are said to dwell.

Drafted. Hounds drawn from the pack to be disposed of, or hung, are drafted.

Earths are drawn. When a vixen fox has drawn out fresh earth, it is a proof she intends to lay up her cubs there.

Eye to hounds. A man has a good eye to hounds who turns his horse’s head with the leading hounds.

Flighty. A hound that is not a steady hunter.

Feeling a scent. You say, if scent is bad, The hounds could scarcely feel the scent.

Foil. When a fox runs the ground over which he has been before, he is running his foil.

Every hound seems giving tongue at the same moment

Every hound seems giving tongue at the same moment

Every hound seems giving tongue at the same moment

Crash. When in cover, every hound seems giving tongue at the same moment: that is a crash of hounds.

Cub. Until November, a young fox is a cub.

Drawing. The act of hunting to find a fox in a cover, or covert, as some term it.

Drag. The scent left by the footsteps of the fox on his way from his rural rambles to his earth, or kennel. Our forefathers rose early; and instead of drawing, hunted the fox by dragging up to him.

And spreading so wide that the whole pack can feel it

And spreading so wide that the whole pack can feel it

And spreading so wide that the whole pack can feel it

Carry a good head. When hounds run well together, owing to the scent being good, and spreading so wide that the whole pack can feel it. But it usually happens that the scent is good only on the line for one hound to get it, so that the rest follow him; hence the necessity of keeping your eyes on the leading hounds, if you wish to be forward.

Challenge. When drawing a fox, the first hound that gives tongue, challenges.

Changed. When the pack changed from the hunted fox to a fresh one.

Check. When hounds stop for want of scent in running, or over-run it.

Chopped a fox. When a fox is killed in cover without running.

Hunting Terms. Huntsman’s Language.

Hunting Terms. Huntsman’s Language.

Hunting terms are difficult to write, because they are often rather sung than said. I shall take as my authority one of the best sportsmen of his day, Mr. Thomas Smith, author of the Diary of a Huntsman, a book which has only one fault, it is too short; and give some explanations of my own.

On throwing off. Cover hoick! i. e. Hark into cover!

Also Eloo in!

Over the fence. Yoi over!

To make hounds draw. Edawick!

Also Yoi, wind him! Yoi, rouse him, my boys!

And to a particular hound Hoick, Rector! Hoick, Bonny Lass!

The variety of Tally-ho’s I have given in another place.

To call the rest when some hounds have gone away. Elope forward, aw-ay-woy!

If they have hit off the scent. Forrid, hoick!

When hounds have overrun the scent, or he wants them to come back to him. Yo-geote!

When the hounds are near their fox. Eloo, at him!

Billet. The excrement of a fox.

Burst. The first part of a run.

Burning scent. When hounds go so fast, from the goodness of the scent, they have no breath to spare, and run almost mute.

Breast high. When hounds do not stoop their heads, but go a racing pace.

Capping. To wave your cap to bring on the hounds. Also to subscribe for the huntsman, by dropping into a cap after a good run with fox-hounds. At watering places, before a run with harriers.

We then crossed the railway into some fields

We then crossed the railway into some fields

We then crossed the railway into some fields

We then crossed the railway into some fields, partly in grass, divided by broad ditches full of water, with plenty of willow stumps on the banks, and partly arable on higher, sloping ground, divided by fair growing fences into large square inclosures. Here we soon found a stout hare that gave us an opportunity of seeing and admiring the qualities of the pack. After the first short burst there was a quarter of an hour of slow hunting, when the hounds, left entirely to themselves, did their work beautifully. At length, as the sun went behind clouds, the scent improved; the hounds got on good terms with puss, and rattled away at a pace, and over a line of big fields and undeniable fences, that soon found out the slows and the nags that dared not face shining water. Short checks of a few minutes gave puss a short respite; then followed a full cry, and soon a view. Over a score of big fields the pack raced within a dozen yards of pussy’s scent, without gaining a yard, the black-tanned leading hound almost coursing his game; but this was too fast to last, and, just as we were squaring our shoulders and settling down to take a very uncompromising hedge with evident signs of a broad ditch of running water on the other side, the hounds threw up their heads; poor puss had shuffled through the fence into the brook, and sunk like a stone.

There is something painful about the helpless finish with a hare. A fox dies snarling and fighting.

This sketch was written in 1857.

The hounds were about fifteen couple

The hounds were about fifteen couple

The hounds were about fifteen couple

The hounds were about fifteen couple, of medium size, with considerable variety of true colours, inclining to the fox-hound stamp, yet very honest hunters. In each run the lead was taken by a hound of peculiar and uncommon marking black and tan, but the tan so far spreading that the black was reduced to merely a saddle.

The day was rather too bright, perhaps, for the scent to lie well; but there was the better opportunity for seeing the hounds work, which they did most admirably, without any assistance. It is one of the advantages of a pack like this that no one presumes to interfere and do the business of either the huntsman or hounds. The first hare was found on land apparently recently inclosed near Eton; but, after two hours’ perseverance, it was impossible to make anything of the scent over ploughed land.

Kept by his Royal Highness for his own amusement

Kept by his Royal Highness for his own amusement

Kept by his Royal Highness for his own amusement

Prince Albert’s harriers are in the strictest sense of the term a private pack, kept by his Royal Highness for his own amusement, under the management of Colonel Hood. The meets are not advertised. The fields consist, in addition to the Royal and official party from the Castle, of a few neighbouring gentlemen and farmers, the hunting establishment of a huntsman and one whip, both splendidly mounted, and a boy on foot. The costume of the hunt is a very dark green cloth double-breasted coat, with the Prince’s gilt button, brown cords, and velvet cap.

Prince Albert’s Harriers.

Prince Albert’s Harriers.

The South-Western Rail made a very good hack up to the Castle station.

That Prince Albert should never have taken to the Royal stag-hounds is not at all surprising. It requires to be to the manner born to endure the vast jostling, shouting, thrusting mob of gentlemen and horse dealers, legs and horse-breakers, that whirl away after the uncarted deer. Without the revival of the old Court etiquette, which forbade any one to ride before royalty, his Royal Highness might have been ridden down by some ambitious butcher or experimental cockney horseman on a runaway. If the etiquette of the time of George III had been revived, then only Leech could have done justice to the appearance of the field, following impatiently at a respectful distance not the stag, as they do now very often, or the hounds, as they ought to do but the Prince’s horse’s tail.

The Brookside are as good and honest as they are handsome

The Brookside are as good and honest as they are handsome

The Brookside are as good and honest as they are handsome

The Brookside are as good and honest as they are handsome; hunting, all together, almost entirely without assistance. If they have a fault they are a little too fast for hare-hounds. After killing the second hare, we were able to leave Brighton by the 3.30 P.M. train. Thus, under modern advantages, a man troubled with indigestion has only to order a horse by post the previous day, leave town at eight in the morning, have a day’s gallop, with excitement more valuable than gallons of physic, and be back in town by half-past five o’clock. Can eight hours be passed more pleasantly or profitably?

More exact than the previous day

More exact than the previous day

More exact than the previous day

The costumes of the field, more exact than the previous day, showed that the master was considered worthy of the compliment; and when, the mist clearing, the beautiful black-and-tan pack, all of a size, and as like as peas, came clustering up with Mr. Saxby, a white-haired, healthy, fresh-coloured, neat-figured, upright squire, riding in the midst on a rare black horse, it was a picture that, taking in the wild heathland scenery, the deep valleys below, bright in sun, the dark hills beyond it, was indeed a bright page in the poetry of field sports.

A delicious ride over turf all the way

A delicious ride over turf all the way

A delicious ride over turf all the way

A delicious ride over turf all the way, after passing Rottingdean, under a blue sky and a June-like sun, in sight of the sea, calm as a lake, brought us to the top of a hill of rich close turf, enveloped in a cloud of mist, which rendered horses and horsemen alike invisible at the distance of a few yards; and when we came upon three tall shepherds, leaning on their iron-hooked crooks, in the midst of a gorse covert, it was almost impossible to believe that we were not in some remote Highland district instead of within half an hour of a town of 70,000 inhabitants.

For the whole turnout is perfection

For the whole turnout is perfection

For the whole turnout is perfection

Tempted to stay another day, I went the next morning six miles through Rottingdean to Telscombe Tye, to meet the Brookside; and, after seeing them, have no hesitation in saying that every one who cares to look at a first-rate pack of harriers would find it worth his while to travel a hundred miles to meet the Brookside, for the whole turnout is perfection. Royalty cannot excel it.

We killed two more hares before retiring for the day

We killed two more hares before retiring for the day

We killed two more hares before retiring for the day

We killed two more hares before retiring for the day, but as they ran rings in the approved style, continually coming back to the slow, prudent, and constitutional riders, there was nothing to distinguish them from all other hare-hunts. After killing the last hare there was ample time to get back to Brighton, take a warm bath, dress, and stroll on the Esplanade for an hour in the midst of as gay and brilliant crowd, vehicular, equestrian, and pedestrian, as can be found in Europe, before sitting down to a quiet dinner, in which the delicious Southdown haunch was not forgotten. So ended a day of glorious weather and pleasant sport, jolly if not in the highest degree genteel.

It is scarcely necessary to observe

It is scarcely necessary to observe

It is scarcely necessary to observe

It is scarcely necessary to observe, that on Brighton Downs there are no blank days, but the drawing is a real operation performed seriously until such a time as the company having all assembled, say at half-past seven o’clock, when, if the unaided faculties of the pack have not brought them up to a form, a shepherd appears as the Deus ex machinâ. In spite of all manner of precautions, the hounds will generally rush up to the point without hunting; loud rises the joyful cry; and, if it is level ground, the whole meet hacks, hobbie-horses, and hunters look as if their riders meant to go off in a whirlwind of trampling feet. There is usually a circle or two with the stoutest hare before making a long stretch; but, on lucky days like that of our first and last visit, the pace mends the hounds settle, the riding-masters check their more dashing pupils, the crowd gets dispersed, and rides round, or halts on the edges, or crawls slowly down the steep-sided valleys; while the hard riders catch their nags by the head, in with the spurs, and go down straight and furious, as if they were away for ever and a day; but the pedestrians and constitutional cob-owners are comforted by assurances that the hare is sure to run a ring back. But, on our day, Pussy, having lain perdu during a few minutes’ check, started up suddenly amid a full cry, and rather too much hallooing. A gentleman in large mustachios and a velvet cap rode at her as if he meant to catch her himself. Away we all dashed, losing sight of the dignity of fox-hunters all mad as hatters (though why hatters should be madder than cappers it would be difficult to say). The pace becomes tremendous; the pack tails by twos and threes; the valleys grow steeper; the field lingers and halts more and more at each steeper comb; the lads who have hurried straight up the hillsides, instead of creeping up by degrees blow their horses and come to a full stop; while old hands at Devonshire combs and Surrey steeps take their nags by the head, rush down like thunder, and slily zigzag up the opposite face at a trot; and so, for ten minutes, so straight, that a stranger, one of three in front, cried, By Jove, it must be a fox! But at that moment the leading hounds turned sharp to the right and then to the left a shrill squeak, a cry of hounds, and all was over. The sun shone out bright and clear; looking up from the valley on the hills, nine-tenths of the field were to be seen a mile in the distance, galloping, trotting, walking, or standing still, scattered like a pulk of pursuing Cossacks. The sight reminded me that, putting aside the delicious excitement of a mad rush down hill at full-speed, the lookers-on, the young ladies on ponies, and old gentlemen on cobs, see the most of the sport in such a country as the Brighton Downs; while in a flat inclosed, or wooded country, those who do not ride are left alone quite deserted, five minutes after the hounds get well away.

For the most part covered with short turf

For the most part covered with short turf

For the most part covered with short turf

The country, it may be as well to say for the benefit of the thousands who have never been on these famous mutton-producing South Downs, is composed of a series of table-lands divided by basin-like valleys, for the most part covered with short turf, with large patches of gorse and heather, in which the hares, when beaten, take refuge. Of late years, high prices and Brighton demand, with the new system of artificial agriculture, have pushed root crops and corn crops into sheltered valleys and far over the hills, much to the disgust of the ancient race of shepherds.

To criticise them elaborately would be as unfair

To criticise them elaborately would be as unfair

To criticise them elaborately would be as unfair

The hounds drew up; to criticise them elaborately would be as unfair, under the circumstances, as to criticise a pot-luck dinner of beans and bacon put before a hungry man. They are not particularly handsome white patches being the prevailing colour; and they certainly do not keep very close; but they are fast enough, persevering, and, killing a fair share of hares, show very good sport to both lookers-on and hard riders. The huntsman Willard, who has no whip to help him, and often more assistance than he requires, is a heavy man, but contrives, in spite of his weight, to get his hounds in the fastest runs.

And gathered on the high ground

And gathered on the high ground

And gathered on the high ground

To those accustomed to an inclosed country there is something extremely curious in mile after mile of open undulating downs lost in the distant horizon. My day was bright. About eleven o’clock the horsemen and amazones arrived in rapidly-succeeding parties, and gathered on the high ground. Pleasure visitors, out for the first time distinguished by their correct costume and unmistakably hired animals caps and white breeches, spotless tops and shining Napoleons were mounted on hacks battered about the legs, and rather rough in the coat, though hard and full of go; but trousers were the prevailing order of the day. Medical men were evident, in correct white ties, on neat ponies and superior cobs; military in mufti, on pulling steeplechasers; some farmers in leggings on good young nags for sale, and good old ones for use. London lawyers in heather mixture shooting-suits and Park hacks; lots of little boys and girls on ponies white or cream-coloured being the favourites; at least one master of far distant fox-hounds pack, on a blood-colt, master and horse alike new to the country and to the sport. Riding-masters, with their lady pupils tittupping about on the live rocking-horses that form the essential stock of every riding-master’s establishment, with one or two papas of the pupils worthy aldermen, or authorities of the Stock Exchange, expensively mounted, gravely looking on, with an expression of doubt as to whether they ought to have been there or not; and then a crowd of the nondescripts, bankers and brewers trying to look like squires, neat and grim, among the well and ill dressed, well and ill mounted, who form the staple of every watering-place, with this satisfactory feature pervading the whole gathering, that with the exception of a few whose first appearance it was in saddle on any turf, and the before-mentioned grim brewers, all seemed decidedly jolly and determined to enjoy themselves.

A good three miles from the Parade

A good three miles from the Parade

A good three miles from the Parade

The meet was the race-course, a good three miles from the Parade. The Brighton meets are stereotyped. The Race-course, Telscombe Tye, the Devil’s Dyke, and Thunders Barrow are repeated weekly. But of the way along the green-topped chalk cliffs, beside the far-spreading sea, or up and down the moorland hills and valleys, who can ever weary? Who can weary of hill and dale and the eternal sea?

With these and a few other floating notions of air

With these and a few other floating notions of air

With these and a few other floating notions of air

With these and a few other floating notions of air, exercise, and change of scene in my head having decided that, however tempting to the caricaturist, the amusement of hundreds was not to be despised I took my place at eight o’clock, at London-bridge station, in a railway carriage the best of hacks for a long distance on a bright October morning, with no other change from ordinary road-riding costume than one of Callow’s long-lashed, instead of a straight-cutting, whips, so saving all the impediments of baggage. By ten o’clock I was wondering what the sad sea waves were saying to the strange costumes in which it pleases the fair denizens of Brighton to deck themselves. My horse, a little, wiry, well-bred chestnut, had been secured beforehand at a dealer’s, well known in the Surrey country.

The little village patronised by the Prince

The little village patronised by the Prince

The little village patronised by the Prince

It is doubtless the open Downs that originally gave the visitors of Brighton (when it was Brighthelmstone, the little village patronised by the Prince, by the Burney, and Mrs. Thrale) the habit of constitutional canters to a degree unknown in other pleasure towns; and the traditional custom has been preserved in the face of miles of brick and stucco. With horses in legions, and Downs at hand, a pack of hounds follows naturally; hares of a rare stout breed are plentiful; and the tradesmen have been acute enough to discover that a plentiful and varied supply of hunting facilities is one of the most safe, certain, and profitable attractions they can provide. Cheltenham and Bath has each its stag-hounds; Brighton does better, less expensively, and pleases more people, with two packs of harriers, hunting four days (and, by recent arrangements, a pack of fox-hounds filling up the other two days) of the week; so that now it may be considered about the best place in the country for making sure of a daily constitutional gallop from October to March at short notice, and with no particular attention to costume and a very moderate stud, or no stud at all.

The Downs and the sea are the redeeming features of Brighton

The Downs and the sea are the redeeming features of Brighton

The Downs and the sea are the redeeming features of Brighton

The Downs and the sea are the redeeming features of Brighton, considered as a place of change and recreation for the over-worked of London. Without these advantages one might quite as well migrate from the City to Regent Street, varying the exercise by a stroll along the Serpentine. To a man who needs rest there is something at first sight truly frightful in the townish gregariousness of Brighton proper, with its pretentious common-place architecture, and its ceaseless bustle and rolling of wheels. But then comes into view first the sea, stretching away into infinite silence and solitude, dotted over on sunny days with pleasure-boats; and next, perpetually dashing along the league of sea-borded highway, group after group of gay riding-parties of all ages and both sexes Spanish hats, feathers, and riding-habits amazones, according to the French classic title, in the majority. First comes Papa Briggs, with all his progeny, down to the little bare-legged imitation Highlander on a shaggy Shetland pony; then a riding-master in mustachios, boots, and breeches, with a dozen pupils in divers stages of timidity and full-blown temerity; and then again loving pairs in the process of courtship or the ecstasies of the honeymoon, pacing or racing along, indifferent to the interest and admiration that such pairs always excite. Besides the groups there are single figures, military and civil, on prancing thorough-bred hacks and solid weight-carrying cobs, contrasted with a great army of hard-worked animals, at half-a-crown an hour which compose the bulk of the Brighton cavalry, for horse-hiring at Brighton is the rule, private possession the exception; nowhere else, except, perhaps, at Oxford, is the custom so universal, and nowhere do such odd, strange people venture to exhibit themselves a-horseback. As Dublin is said to be the car-drivingest, so is Brighton the horse-ridingest city in creation; and it is this most healthy, mental and physical exercise, with the summer-sea yacht excursions, which constitute the difference and establishes the superiority of this marine offshoot of London over any foreign bathing-place. Under French auspices we should have had something infinitely more magnificent, gay, gilded, and luxurious in architecture, in shops, in restaurants, cafés, theatres, and ball-rooms; but pleasure-boat sails would have been utterly unknown, and the horse-exercise confined to a few daring cavaliers and theatrical ladies.

Harriers on The Brighton Downs.

Harriers on The Brighton Downs.

Long before hunting sounds are to be heard, except the early morning cub-hunters routing woodlands, and the autumn stag-hunters of Exmoor, harrier packs are hard at work racing down and up the steep hillside and along the chalky valleys of Brighton Downs, preparing old sportsmen for the more earnest work of November training young ones into the meaning of pace, the habit of riding fast down, and the art of climbing quickly, yet not too quickly, up hill giving constitutional gallops to wheezy aldermen, or enterprizing adults fresh from the riding-school affording fun for fast young ladies and pleasant sights for a crowd of foot-folks and fly-loads, halting on the brows of the steep combs, content with the living panorama.