try their footing here, or it will get very hot for them hereafter; and when we find men like Lord Granville himself and Sir George Womwell speaking out so strongly, we may be well warranted in looking about for more like them. And, then, as to the fox-killer, show him up whenever you have a chance, as the Berkshire yeoman did the Gentleman-in-Waiting at Windsor, or cut him dead as the parson of the parish did; for no man who assassinates a fox can be ever worth knowing. And bear in mind, while these little wretches, the rabbits, are multiplying exceedingly, foxes in certain parts are getting very scarce, and we hear rumours of countries like The Rufford and The Bedale being given over, as half a kennel of hounds in Dorsetshire has just been sold simply from a want of foxes. Indeed, some of our national sports are in but a middling way. The Turf is getting more and more to be a matter of business, and a bad business too; there is a growing practice of making bets and books on boat races and cricket matches, and noblemen have turned higglers and dealers in pheasants and hares. But as a man can hardly make wagers or make money by fox-hunting, let us try our best to keep one old English pastime amongst us pure and undefiled. We have scared the wolf from our woods and forests, we have banished the bustard from our plains, and the very grouse fly before the shepherd and his flock; but it will be a bad day for this country when a fox can no longer be routed from his lair, to "Die in the open, as a good'un should do.” A FISHING EXCURSION IN THE LOWLANDS OF SCOTLAND. BY WANDERER. (Continued.) Space will not allow us to attempt a description of the numerous objects of interest presented by the old city of Chester; at the same time we may briefly allude to a few, worthy of the visit of the stranger. In the first place perhaps we should mention "The Walls," which carry us back from the nineteenth century to the days of Marius, when, as king over the Britons, in order to protect his royal city from the incursions of his enemies, he erected a fortified wall around Chester. The rude defences of the Britons, however, who were no masons, were of little avail when opposed to the resistless power of Rome. Chester having surrendered to the Romans, soon afforded palpable pooofs of the change. The earth-works or mud-walls of the conquered disappeared before the imperial masonry of the Romans; "and the Walls of Chester, built as only Roman hands could build them, rose majestically in their place, clasping the city in an embrace of stone, defiant aliko of Time and of the foe.' Chester Walls, which are mainly of Edwardian character, and afford a continuous promenade, nearly two miles in circumference, are the only perfect specimen of that order of ancient fortification now remaining in Britain. The Walls of Shrewsbury, York, and other places that occur to us, though interesting enough in their way, yet hide their diminished heads beside the proud old ramparts of Chester. Where is the pen or the pencil that can depict the scenes of glory and renown, so inseparably bound up with the history of these Walls? For three or four centuries the Roman soldier kept watch and ward over them, and over the city; but no sooner had their legions withdrawn from Britain, than the whole island was shaken to its centre by the ruthless invasion of the Picts and Goths. Deserted by their old protectors, the Britons invoked the aid of the Saxons, under Hengist and Horsa, who, landing at the head of a powerful army, in concert with the Britons, soon drove the invaders from their quarters within the Walls of Chester. The Saxons in turn, perceiving the weakness of the unfortunate Britons, determined on possessing themselves of the country, and during the conflict that ensued Chester was frequently taken and retaken by the respective belligerents, and many a fierce and bloody battle raged beneath its Walls. In 607, for instance, Ethelfred, King of Northumberland, laid siege to the city, and after a sanguinary struggle outside the Walls, during which he put one thousand two hundred British monks to the sword, wrested the city from its native defenders. Again, however, the Britons returned to the rescue, and, driving out the usurpers, retained possession of Chester for more than two hundred years. The Danes were the next invaders of old Chester; but, about the year 908, Ethelred, Earl of Mercia, and Ethelfleda, his Countess, restored the shattered Walls and Gates of the city; in which state they remained, "Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields," through many a long and eventful epoch of England's history, Chester's faithful safeguard against every foe. * "The King's Arms Kitchen," as it it called, was erected in 1861, on the site of a tavern dating back to the days of the First Charles, who is traditionally said to have established the Mimic Corporation still kept up in the house. This is only one of the many strange institutions with which old Chester abounds. But we pass on to the adjoining building, which, once a portion of the old Manchester Hall, and a celebrated mart during the annual Chester fairs, is now transformed by modern enterprise and architectural skill into a commodious Corn-exchange. Proceeding a step or two northwards, a prospect of venerable magnificence suddenly reveals itself. To our left, and so close that we can hear the organ pealing forth its joyous hallelujahs, we have a splendid view of the Cathedral of St. Werburgh, seen here perhaps to greater advantage than from any other accessible point. The first glance will show us that it is a cruciform structure, as most of our cathedrals are, the massive and weather-beaten tower standing just in the centre compartment of the cross. The left wing, though an integral portion of the building is, nevertheless, a separate parish church, dedicated to St. Oswald. The choir itself occupies the entire range of the edifice between the spectator and the tower, the Chapel of Our Ladye being in the immediate foreground. At our feet lie numberless memorials of the dead, which— "With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd This ground was a place of sepulture long before the Conquest, and has only recently been closed by Act of Parliament. On the margin of this cemetery a Roman sculptured grave-stone was discovered in 1860, close to the foundations of the New Corn-exchange. This relic has since been placed in the Public Grounds adjoining the Water Tower, for the convenience of visitors wishing to inspect it. Deferring our special notice of the Cathedral until a more convenient season, we shortly find ourselves at the end of Abbey-street, and immediately over the Kale Yards Gate. This postern leads to the Kitchen Gardens, or, as they were called in Chester, the Kale Yards, which formerly belonged to the Abbot and Convent of St. Werburgh. The archway was made for their convenience, by permission of the citizens, in the reign of Edward I., to prevent the necessity of bringing their vegetables by a circuitous route through the East Gate. A defunct ropery, timber yard, and infant-school now occupy the spot where monkish cabbages and conventual kale in old time grew. A few paces farther on was a quadrangular abutment, on which formerly stood a tower, called the Saddler's Tower, from its having been once the meeting-room of the Company of Saddlers. This tower was taken down in 1780, and the abutment which marked the place where it stood was demolished in 1828. While on the subject of the Walls, we may mention a mouldering old turret, familiarly known three hundred years ago as Newton's Tower; but it is called at the present day the Phoenix Tower, from the phoenix, which is the crest of one of the city companies, ornamenting the front of the structure. Over the portal is the following announcement: "KING CHARLES Stood on this Tower September 24th,* 1645, and Saw His Army Defeated ON ROWTON MOOR." * As we once more look up, and read yon quaint yet melancholy inscription, our minds will of necessity revert back to that sad September day, when Charles the First stood on this very spot and saw his gallant cavaliers borne down by the grim soldiers of Oliver Cromwell's army. For three years he had maintained a doubtful contest with his Parliament, and though for a time the success of his troops in the western counties had given a fitful gleam of prosperity to his sinking fortunes, the tide had now turned, and one disaster followed another in quick succession. (To be continued.) *The date upon the Tower (September 24th) is an error of the mason's; the battle actually took place on the 27th of September, A RIDE BEHIND DEXTER. The control that Mr. Bonner has acquired over Dexter is truly wonderful. Those who have been acquainted with the horse would not believe in the change without seeing it. As is well known, Dexter has always been very free with his heels. His playful moods bordered on the vicious; and he has had a fashion of lashing out somewhat savagely at those who came too close to his quarters. For this reason, strangers have viewed him at a respectful distance, and trainers have handled him with the utmost caution. Notwithstanding he was in Doble's hands so long, the driver never ventured to take any liberties with him; for it is to be presumed that a horse so strongly muscled can kick with unusual force. But Mr. Bonner is always good at experiments; and by kind and firm measures he has made himself master of the situation. On Saturday last we saw him pinch Dexter in the flanks, rub him on the inner surface of the thighs, and then wind up by crawling under him and between his legs. No one ever before dared to be so familiar with his kingship; for his playful moods were generally in the ascendency, and at such times he was continually on the qui vive to land a foot in somebody's bread-basket. "You have Hamiltonized him, have you not?" we asked, as we saw Mr. B. taking these liberties with the horse. "Partially," was the brief but smiling reply. "Look at his head: see how broad he is between his eyes. Dexter is a horse of sense; and I have conquered him, not by brute force, but by appealing to his reason." A sound theory, simple as true. When hooking him to a waggon, Dexter has always had a fashion of striking out, first with one foot and then with the other, very often to the inconvenience of grooms and damage of wheels. But Mr. Bonner has thoroughly broken him of this habit. On Saturday we saw him stand, like an old plough-horse, between the shafts, while the traces were fastened. And, viewing these things, it occurred to us that no horse is naturally vicious-that he is made so by treatment. And when you find an animal seemingly vicious, the surest way to conquer him is by gentle measures which appeal to his understanding. All ready, we stepped into the waggon with Mr. Bonner; and in driving up the avenue to the Park, and through the Park, Dexter lifted his head with spirit. Nothing escaped those bright eyes of his, since the bridle was blindless; and he moved forward with the utmost confidence and gentleness, swerving neither to the right nor the left. Sometimes, when a horse was passing him, he would prick up his ears and feel of the smooth bar bit, as much as to say, 66 My place is in front"; but a soothing word from his owner, and he was quiet again. As Dr. McCosh, the president of Princeton College, remarked, to see how marvellously Dexter is muscled you must sit behind him. Such immense development of propelling and lasting power is without parallel in equine history. The Doctor is a great admirer of the horse. and justly so, since his father was a large breeder, and the youthful days of the now learned collegiate president were spent on the farm, among the colts of pure lineage, ripening day after day into maturity -a maturity of bone, muscle, endurance, speed, and, greater than all, intelligence. Dexter has had regular work all winter; consequently his muscle is more prominent now than ever before at this season of the year; and his flesh is firmer, since there is no superabundance of fat. With two weeks' preparation, he would be ready to trot a severe race. As we drove through the park, Mr. Bonner said: "Now, Mr. B., you see there is no danger in sitting behind a horse like this. A few weeks before the inauguration, you may remember that General Grant was out with me, sitting in the seat you now occupy. Just after a brush on the lane, the General remarked, in his quiet way, 'Mr. Bonner, the people do not understand Dexter. Would you believe it, I had a score or more call on me, in addition to letters received, urging me not to accept your invitation to ride behind his kingship to-day. They argued he was a vicious horse, and tried to impress upon me the great calamity that would befall the country should I be suddenly removed from worldly strife on the eve of accepting the office of President. To all I replied, 'You do not know the horse as well as I do. I have been behind him before, and I assure you I have passed unscathed through hotter places." "And then," continued Mr. Bonner, "I told the General that numerous gentlemen, solicitous of his welfare, had called upon me that morning, trying to convince me that I was endangering the peace of the country by tempting him (the President-elect) to ride behind my runaway horse, Dexter. But I silenced them all by the simple argument: 'Gentlemen, I have as much at heart the interests of General Grant as any of you. Did I regard a ride behind Dexter perilous, I should not ask him to share it with me. As an evidence of the confidence I repose in the horse, allow me to explain that I take out behind him my wife, the mother of my children.' But you see, Mr. B., that this is no runaway brute. Out of the road and we were away with the speed of the wind. Three times did Mr. Bonner urge Dexter to a break that he might demonstrate to us the ease with which he could follow him up. How perfect is the machinery! What wonderful motion ! No friction, but as smooth and noiseless as the most delicate and freshly-oiled machinery! How swiftly we get over the ground! It is the swoop of the lightning without the roar of the thunder. At no time were the lines tightly drawn. Did you ever see Doble drive the marvel? Taking a firm hold on the lines, the trainer would brace himself in the sulky and pull as if his life were at stake. And you could not resist the thought that should vital strength give way, should the muscles of the arms weaken, Dexter would be away, mad, terribly wicked, and uncontrolable in his might and fury. You who have seen him in such times as this, look now, and mark the contrast. The lines are loose on his back, and yet he is flying along at the top of his speed. A wave of the whip, and a sharp cry, and he is off his feet, apparently as angry and irresistible as the mad rush of the hurricane. Now a gentle pull on the lines, and a soothing word, and he has regained his stride a horse full of gentleness and power. "You "The result of kindness and reason," smiled Mr. Bonner. see there is no waste of nerve force, there is no choking sensation by hard pulling on the bit; his flesh is firm, and it will not require ex |