DRIVING TO COVER:-PORTRAIT OF J. S. W. S. ERLE DRAX, ESQ. CHARBOROUGH PARK, DORSETSHIRE.

Engraved by T. A. PRIOR, from a Painting by C. Josi.

In our engraving the Master of the Charborough hounds is seen just leaving the entrance of the park, and proceeding "on wheels" to the meet. He is accompanied by his "tiger," who appears of diminutive size, when seated beside his master, who has not only the longest name of any master of fox-hounds in the kingdom, but is also one of the tallest. The grey-Blue-Ruin-that Mr. Drax is driving, looks like one that has a little blood in him; and from the fit of his harness we could almost swear to its being the make of Finnie of Piccadilly, who turns out as prime a hunting-saddle, and as neat a set of harness as any maker in London. As an engraving of a horse trotting in harness, we conceive that the grey represented in our plate, has seldom, if ever, been surpassed. Nothing is more difficult to an artist than to give the animals he paints, the appearance of being really in motion,—that is, of advancing forward, and not being fastened to the ground by their hind legs, and seeming rather to swing up and down like a rocking-horse, than to gallop or trot. The dog running by the side of the gig is touched off with great spirit, and from the pleasant glance that we are afforded of the park, looking through the gate, we perceive that it is well stocked with deer.

Though the country hunted by Mr. Drax is not of great extent, it affords a fair average of sport. The master of the Charborough hounds is a good; as well as a fearless rider, and he must be a bold horseman who dare take the leap that he refuses. Though Mr. Drax does not keep race-horses he is nevertheless a promoter of the sport; and gives annually two cups to be run for at the Charborough races. The family name of Mr. Drax is Sawbridge; he took the name of Erle Drax in addition to his own, on his marriage with the heiress of the late Hon. Grosvenor Erle Drax. Charborough-park first came into the possession of the Erles, a family of great antiquity in Somersetshire, in the reign of Henry VIII; and within the last hundred years it has thrice passed in succession with heiresses to members of the families of Drax, Grosvenor, and Sawbridge. In the reign of Henry III, the manor of Charborough was held of the king, in chief, by Richard Marshall, by the service of annually delivering to the sheriff-"unum strigilem"-a strickle, an instrument to scrape horses with. In the reign of Henry V, the service seems to have been changed to the annual delivery of a "horse comb, value four-pence."

Nimrod's Northern Tour.

(Continued from Page 142.)

"Hæc olim meminisse juvabit."-VIRGIL.

"When time, who steals our hours away,

Shall steal our pleasures too,

The memory of the past will stay

And half our joys renew."-Moore.

On

In my road from Hawkhead to Glasgow, I passed the spot on which the Glasgow and Paisley steam-coach blew up, a year or two before, killing some of its passengers, blowing off limbs from others, and par-boiling not a few. If my recollection serves me, the number of killed and wounded amounted to seventeen. With every acknowledgment of the superiority of mechanical over animal power, I told the principal proprietor of steam road-carriages, many years back, in Mr. Tattersall's yard, that they never could be made available to the road, nor will they ever be. Then again, between Glasgow and Carlisle, a circumstance occurred, quite in character with the place at which it happened. fresh horses being put to the mail at Gretna Green-" that happy spot where the unholy hand of law has not yet plucked up the root of love -the off leader bolted, at starting, and, jumping on the back of her partner, brought her down, with her, to the ground. Such confusion of this nature, I never before witnessed. One leader was on its back, and the bridle off the head of the other, who lay with her head turned toward the coach, and her rein pulled through the driver's hand. Now all this was the result of the want of coachmanship, and nothing else, The culprit, a fine young grey mare, apparently very well bred, wanted to get away quickly with the coach, but the mutton-fisted fellow would not let her do so, and by holding her hard, occasioned what I have described.

On Friday 22nd.—I arrived at Merton House, in the county of Durham, the residence of that "acmé of a sportsman and a gentleman,” as Lord Kintore calls him, Mr. Ralph Lambton, to whom I had signified my intention of visiting him, on my return towards the South, and I am happy to say, I found him in excellent health and spirits. Neither was I long in his presence before he put me on horseback, and we rode to the kennel, which is situated in the park of his nephew the Earl of Durham. Fenwick, the feeder, instantly recognised me, as also did Bob Hunnum the first whip, whom we met in the park, and in a situation, which, as Mr. Lambton allowed, would have just suited Frank Grant, as a study for a sketch of a whipper-in, on a non-hunting day.