6 guineas. Surplice is half-price, and about time too; and 15 out of Sweetmeat's 10 guinea subscriptions are taken already. This horse has always been kept at a wonderfully moderate price, and he deserves his success. West Australian and Stockwell are each to have thirty mares at 30 guineas, groom inclusive-King Tom is to have the same (!); and Cossack and Voltigeur are only half that.

There is little enough gossip to hear of any kind; but they tell me that Knight of St. George is all but a case of break down; and it is not a little odd that he and Andover should both have failed to "put in an appearance" this year on the turf, and Mincemeat been equally invisible. Mary Copp is really now the property of Mr. John Stanley, with certain contingencies for Mr. Lawley; but to the day of our death we shall never understand the biddings at her sale. We never stated that Lord Londesboro' had bought it, but merely said "it was strongly surmised so." Her 3,400 guineas must therefore be looked upon as quite a fictitious price. The Days have nearly 80 two-year-olds in training, which is almost as many as all the Newmarket trainers have between them. Lord Glasgow's horses are at Middleham again, and the jockeys there will be glad to see him, as of yore, coming down for a trial-afternoon, and starting couple after couple as hard as he can tear on the moor. The foundation of his greatest triumphs were laid here when Croft trained for him, and Harry Edwards rode. The latter had the horses a few weeks after Croft died in 1829; and what a load of men have been with him since-Smith, Turner, R. Boyce, Watson, Lonsdale, Planner, Dilly, Joseph Dawson, I'Anson, Cooper, and now another Dawson, who has done good service to his brother Tom. Can we doubt any longer the adage-"a rolling stone gathers no moss?" I see by the official minute, that Lord Glasgow, General Peel, Mr. Greville, Admiral Rous, Lords Stradbroke, Maidstone, and Mr. Etwall discussed that P.P. question, and that Mr. Wigram, who counts among the defeated ten, does not sign the notice for reopening it. Sir J. Hawley, Lords Enfield, Anglesey, the Duke of Richmond, Lords March, Clifden, and Messrs. J. Mills, J. M. Stanley, and G. Sturt, also signed the first requisition; but three of them deserted to the other side on the vote-day, while the others neither voted nor signed the requisition. This is odd, unsettled work! and does not augur well for the lovers of betting change.

It was quite impossible to sit quiet at home when such great things were promised at Quorn, and hence to Quorn I took my way on the Wednesday night. What a cold night it was! My cab-horse could not move, so I had to get out, and race, bag in hand; the railway carriage windows were crystallized long before we reached Tring, but still the cold was nothing to what it was in the windy vestibule of the Leicester Inn. Everybody there seemed scared, and not knowing what to make out of the rush. A little bit of a room was all that could be got, and it was some time before they lighted up the coffeeroom fire. Everybody seemed bewitched; and when we pulled at the bell to give an order for heat and nourishment, it was opened by a little dirty imp with a roll in his hand, who requested permission to recite us a Christmas piece, with corresponding dance and gesture. Gradually their minds unthawed a little, a few extra servants were

pressed into the service, and I was in bed at last. I could have slept well enough, if a gentleman had not come into the next room about halfpast one, and walked about, uttering in loud tones, "Oh, dear! these cockles will be the death of me!" If he sees this report of his sentiments, I hope he will refrain from such low indigestible suppers in future. Wheels were rumbling out of the yard almost before it was light; but I had no notion of being at Quorn so early, and when the most comfortable of breakfasts and beds had made atonement for the scared reception of the night before, I took the train to Barrow. Every form and manner of sportsman seemed there, from the gigantic Mr. W. Chaffy, great across the Essex Roothings, this year, on Thunderbolt, and Mr. Henley Greaves, who must ride 21 stone if he rides an ounce, and weighed 14 stone when he was fourteen, down to neat little Tom Clarke, of the Old Berkshire, and Sir W. W. Wynn's clever head groom. Paddy Gill, if I mistake not, showed on the occasion; but I only saw four or five turf habitués. Once at Quorn, it was no small difficulty to get through the stables, as they were built in days when no great space was allowed behind the horses. Kegworth was a very uice horse, but he had very little mane; Freney was a beauty, Harkaway a slapping chesnut, up to as much weight as any there, not barring Somerbey, whom I could have stood behind for a month, looking at his fine hocks and quarters. Malakhoff was also a very catching style of animal, Dargan had the stoutest of backs, and Barkstone was beautiful, but rather small. Wanderer was a grey; and of three others, two were roarers, and one very old. The grooms were frightfully reserved; but two or three of the Quorn men were pretty talkative about the history of each, as they were brought out. I believe it was Burton who was said to have been only out once, and to have paid 55 guineas for three months' keep; while Shankton had been bought at about £80, and was now sold for 360 guineas. Never had horses a finer chance under the hammer. The frost had brought all the world, and the cub-hunting horses had done nearly all the work this season. If they had hunted for three months, and been sold in a thaw-time, we should hardly have heard of a 120-guineas average, much less an 181-guinea one. Sir Richard is said to have declared that, at the end of last season, he had scarcely a sound horse in his stable. Old Whitenose, who is said to have accomplished the greatest leap Sir Richard ever took in his life, was a great object of interest; but I fancy he has been shot ere this. He had a magnificent dun shooting-pony companion in his paddock, who fetched 70 guineas the next day, and was the finest specimen of the kind I have seen. The stables were cleared at half-past eleven, by Mr. Tattersall's order; but I had been in the kennels long before that. Mr. Marriot was the great centre-figure there, and perhaps it would have been almost impossible to see so many huntsmen and masters of hounds together, of all shapes and sizes. I was astonished to see so many heavy men among the former, and one could almost tell from their movements and style of talking, whether they are slow or smart in the field. Old Dick Burton was wonderfully chirpy, and Will Derry looked very fresh yet. I had not been at Quorn since Lord Suffield's time, in 1839, and the hounds seemed very much smaller than they were in that day. To say what occurred at the sale would be almost hopeless.

F

I tried to take notes, but failed after the fifth horse, as there was no keeping the ring. Mr. Tattersall gave orders to "trot him down;" but that injunction was alike useless, and bidders had to manage as they could, and trust to their stable recollections. Some of "the young men's horses" were quite as much liked as Sir Richard's; and taking the whole lot, they were a fine type of what the fast twelve-stone Leicestershire hunter should be. Mr. Rickard Sutton has bought quite the flower of them; and I hear, on all sides, that a finer rider never crossed Leicestershire. A great deal of the clothing was sold; for if one of the purchased lots was left for the night, the head groom would only guarantee to feed them, not to clothe them. The saddles, which were tied with their bridles in packets of four, were very large; and the bit which was pointed out to me as the one with which Sir Richard rode in his last run was very severe. There was no label under the saddle-flaps, to show where they were made. After being almost starved to death at Burleigh, it was a blessing to get a good dinner for two shillings in a barn, where the daintiest of beef and ducks invited you. All was cold; but the immense braziers with coke and charcoal made up for it. It was a pleasant but a melancholy day; and when one compared the desolation which reigned about Quorn when all were gone, with the vivid life-scene made immortal by Grant, it seemed part and parcel of a vast and dreary dream. I could scarcely realize that the master-spirit of Leicestershire fox-hunting, who had for seven seasons past ridden forth with his horn at his saddle-bow from Quorn, now lies at Lyndford, in the livery of the grave.

This sad scene brings to our mind that we ought long since to have mentioned a little book which has given us a delightful two hours-to wit, "Horses, Hunting, and the Turf," by the late Major Rose, 55th Regiment. Those who knew the late Major Hogg-whom we still seem fondly to recal, as he sat on his grey in the midst of his hounds at the meet under Cowper's Oak, the centre of a group, which Landseer, if he had strolled through Yardley Chase that morning, would not have willingly let die-will recognise his spirited counterpart in our author. Two men so devoted to the noble science were not likely to leave their caps and hunting whips behind them; and hence the one, as Gêlert tells us, rattled the jackalls with a pack of English foxhounds through the wilds of Kaffirland, with Mr. Arkwright as his first whip, while the other beguiled the leisure of garrison life by acting as the master of the Calpé Hunt. Both died at their posts in the prime of manhood; and the latter lies buried-with many a gallant spirit of Pennefather's brigade-in the trenches at the Alma, swept down, like them, in his "majestic march up to the Russian gun.'

The contents of this little octavo are simply described by its editor as "four short chapters." We could have gladly wished them thrice as long; as his stable ethics come to us fresh from life, and not strained through sporting writers and veterinary essayists. His heart was evidently much more with horse and hound than the race and the starting-post, and hence "The Turf" is hardly touched on. "Scribble's" mythical cit, who ventured on a day with the Pytchley, and asked who "Old 'Ard" was-because he had heard the hunts

man calling to him all day, and had never seen him yet"-and the groom who may not have "heard tell" of the truly military recipe of blasting for over-reach, are not the only persons who may get a wrinkle from it, and swell the funds of the "Soldiers' Infant Home."

RUSSIA, AND ITS FIELD SPORTS.

BY LINTON.

Having during the past year made several journeys to the City of the Sultan, I have not seldom come in contact with agreeable and intellectual companions of all nations; to one of whom, a French gentleman, and in his own peculiar line a most enthusiastic sportsman, I am in a great measure indebted for the following curious details connected with Russia and its sporting pleasures.

I may premise my subject by remarking that Monsieur de Marsan held strongly to an opinion in which in a great measure I agreed, though by no means a general one-that the summer should be passed in southern climates, the winter in northern. I speak, of course, as regards those whose object is not that of regaining health; and in confirmation of this conviction I may remark that, whether it be in Italy, Spain, the East, or elsewhere to the South, it matters little-the stranger is doomed during the winter to suffer from intense cold, without one ameliorating comfort, ever at hand in "Merrie England" to meet the variations of climate; whereas the natural beauties of the country are hidden, and all its meridian pleasures lost. On the other hand, what is to be enjoyed in Russia during summer?-a brief interval of intense heat utterly sickening; preventing that exercise and spirit of rambling so agreeable, indeed necessary to a sportsman, as to every healthy and active-minded traveller.

"It is true," remarked De Marsan, as we sat one night enjoying our pipes when steaming over a calm sea between Messina and Corsica, the brightest of bright full moons shining in the heavens, and throwing its glittering rays on the unruffled waters-" it is true that one enjoys, even at Midsummer time, and that not seldom, delicious sea-breezes at Naples; at Seville cool saloons, from which the midday heat is excluded, refreshing baths, quiet siestas, night-airs embalmed with fragrance, the shade of orange groves, smiling landscapes, and glorious moonlights. What then! the day is lost in effeminate sloth and enervated occupation. Whereas, during the winter at St. Petersburgh, all is made warm and cosy within; an equal temperature pervades throughout the house. And without-a bright sky, fresh air, mountains of ice, frozen rivers changed into highways;

forests, the branches of whose trees, bending under their silvery weight, form a picture whose beauty is unknown to the stranger; traîneaux to fly over the frozen roads; in fact, all that is new to the sight and invigorating to an energetic mind and body well clothed to meet the rigours of the climate: add to this, most attractive and exciting field sports and agreeable society."

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It is not, however, simply in the narrow view of mere game-killing that I desire to place myself, as my pen glides over these pages, but in that of an ardent admirer and keen observer of Nature and her abundant charms, refining and ennobling in its contemplation none more so than to the sportsman, who, quitting the beaten highway, visits alike rural villages, forests, and smiling vales; meets and mixes with every class of society; and sees, and far better sces, foreign lands than the mere tourist who rolls through a country in an easy carriage, or a more easy railway, his every comfort and luxury forestalled and provided. It is the free-and-easy life of the pedestrian which redoubles my love of sporting, far away from the white cliff's of Albion; it is the close and uncontrolled contact with God's ever-changing yet ever unsurpassed beauties, which day by day display themselves, cheering the heart and invigorating the body, far more than contact with man and his arts, which makes the gun appear lighter on the shoulder, and limbs feel less fatigue, as you wander forth in search of sport or pleasure.

Having arrived at St. Petersburgh during the end of autumn, he observed, I had still a period to wait ere my longed-for sporting days commenced; inasmuch as the ordinary shooting in Russia, which commences in July, terminates on or about that period when the beautiful-plumed pleasant legally falls a prey to the sportsman in our then many-tinted woodlands at home.

Peace, in fact, had been proclaimed for a season in favour of pheasants, partridges, &c. Awaiting, therefore, the arrival of snow and frost, nothing was left to me but hare-shooting-better than idling; a conclusion I came to, when shaving one morning, which determined me to accept a kind invitation I had received to join a merry party-composed of French, Russian, and English sportsmen -to a grande chasse aux lièvres. How we proceeded to the seat of war, and what we did when there, I shall here detail. At the moment when all men's thoughts are centred on the acts of the country of which I write, my rough sketch may not fail in creating some interest even to the general reader.

The chateau to which I had been invited as a guest, and which was the property of one of the party, was situated about thirty miles from the city; and the road which led thereto, to me, was full of interest and novelty, particularly that portion in the immediate neighbourhood of the capital, the circumference of which is larger than that of Paris, although the population does not exceed five hundred thousand souls.

In the first place, we crossed the wide and deep river Neva by the principal bridge of boats, which greatly resembles the Thames in all ways, save that its waters are clear and healthy, and agreeable for general use. It is, in fact, the sca-port of the capital. At times, however, it threatens the city by its terrible inundations, which, when