people are collecting their scattered faculties and looking for a bridge ; down he goes to it—not too fast, and his horse knows what he means as well as his rider. He is sailing up the opposite rise, ere you can see where he crossed; and you are fortunate if you happen to hit the same place, and get over equally well. Look at him if he falls ; in the first place his horse has been ridden at his fence so collectedly that he is able to make an effort to save himself, and, if he must go down, falls quite like a gentleman; neither of them is hurt, nor does the dismounted rider let go his bridle: they are up, and going on, apparently none the worse, ere you are quite satisfied he was ever down at all. You never hear of any body crossing or riding on to him. He never ewears at his horse or exclaims at his neighbour; he rides, as he does everything else, like a thorough gentleman; and when settled to his work, and well away with the hounds, catch him who can. This variety, however, is by no means common; and few hunts, we imagine, can boast more than two or three of the sort we have endeavoured to describe.

The other species, or the customer who rides and only rides, is far more numerous; in fact, their number is one of the great difficulties with which huntsmen in the swell countries have to contend, The specimen is to be distinguisbed by bis usuully graceful seat and masterly style of horsemanship; in fact, he has studied this part of the art deeply, and, to do him justice, with great success. He is evidently at home on or off his horse; he gets so many falls that quick mounting is indispensable to his line of business, and he is rather fond of getting off and contemplating his nag when hounds are doing nothing, and people standing still. He is not very particular, unless there are a good many other customers out, about getting a start; in fact, he rather enjoys being mixed up with the crowd, and suddenly shooting out from amongst them, to disappear over a hog-backed stile or break-neck impediment, of which they are justly shy. From his habit of going straight, he is pretty sure to get to hounds before they have crossed many fields, particularly should there be much jumping; and he is one of those who seem to have dropped from the clouds, at the first check, when you fondly imagine no mortal can have got away any where near them but yourself.

His style of riding is brilliant, but not equal to Customer No, 1. Occasionally he goes out of his way to jump a large place, and gets, as he deserves, many an awkward fall. He will not spare either, from over-pacing his horse; and though he takes care to ride a good one, he has on sundry occasions been seen standing still in the middle of a field. Once in a season, perhaps, he pounds every individual out, by getting over some horrible impediment that no man in his senses would think of facing, and this he intensely enjoys; but he is pretty safe to spoil his own sport afterwards, either by riding the hounds to a check, or making a wrong turn on the first opportunity. He is a light-hearted gentleman, and this will not distress him in the smallest degree. He will jump on any horse at a moment's notice, and give him what he calls “ a bucketing” without the slightest hesitation; but he will not buy him unless a real good one, and not very dear, for he gets through a fairish amount of horse-flesh, and does not like to ride “on too much money.” He is an agreeable com

panion, particularly after dinner, though temperate in his potations, and will talk about horses all night long. He smokes a good deal, and will never allow either that the hounds ran fast, or that any man can really half ride, not even himself. He generally gives up the sport about eight-and-thirty, but will attend Epsom, Ascot, and Newmarket far on into middle life. A love of excitement, a spice of “ dare-devilry,' and a good deal of vanity are the causes that bring him out hunting. Of hounds, foxes, scent, coverts, and the whole details of the chase, he is ignorant to the last degree.

How different is the next sportsman on our list! who in order of precedence comes very near the mere “Customer,” and whom we will call the “Welter-weight.” How thoroughly has he studied that pursuit which is the one darling object of his life! Turn him out alone with a fox before him, and he could almost ride the animal down bimself, with no assistance, but relays of fresh horses and his own intuiiive familiarity with the habits and instinct of the vulpine race. What a martyr has he been all his life to the love of hunting! In his stalwart youth how has he starved and wasted that gigantic frame, to keep if possible below the dreaded mark of sixteen stone, In vain, his labours have but hardened him into a Hercules, and that brawny figure will not be reduced by all the discipline of Newmarket or the fatigues of Inverness. He never gets into the scales now, it is a hopeless case; and he begins to think that, after all, horses can do wonders even under his ponderous limbs. He loves to reflect on the famous Dick Gurney and his trusty - Sober Robin.” He dwells on the exploits of the popular Colonel Wyndham, probably the finest and largest specimen of the human race, that ever rode honestly to hounds. He recollects how Lord Alvanley went with the “ LightWeights,' and Mr. Maxse “on Cognac could not be beat," and takes comfort in the retrospection that there were giants too in those days; so he perseveres on, and season after season sees him a trifle more grey about the whiskers, the least thing broader in the back, exciting the astonishment of the young, the envy of his competitors, and the admiration of all. Look at him whilst the hounds are drawing the far-famed Wild-field gorse. He has stolen on to the point at which the fox is most likely to break, but has concealed himself so cleverly, that the animal will not see him, nor will the run be spoilt by his eagerness; nobody dreams of taking him to task for thus emerging from the crowd, and securing a start, though were any one else to attempt the same manœuvre, what an outcry would be raised against the offender! “Come back sir !-you sir, Hie!-who the devil is he? Do you want to head the fox ? pray come back!” In the mean-time the Welter sucks quietly at his cigar (he has a superstition that smoking is of an attenuating tendency), and ere he dashes the burning end from his lips, his eye gleams, his hat is raised from the partially grizzled head; the huntsman, up to his neck in gorse, returns the signal; not a word is spoken till the fox is fairly away over the next field but one, and then the Welter utters one prolonged and musical shriek, that could only issue from that large deep chest, and leaning forward on his short-legged, large-headed, stumpedup, well-bred horse, is away alongside the leading hounds, with a start of at least a hundred yards before any other man out.

These are the golden moments that he enjoys. For three grassfields he is going like a feather; but alas ! the next fence lands him in plough, and he is compelled to remember that he is mortal and very heavy ; so he takes a pull at his horse, and brings him back into a trot, although the hounds are streaming away from him, and young Tomtit goes by at express pace, Ainging great" splotches” of the fertile glebe into his very teeth. He will catch and dispose of Tomtit at yon black bullfinch in the far distance ; but with that performance and the ignomi. nious pusillanimity of T. we have nothing to do. The Welter has all his eyes about him, and we may be sure ere long he gets a “nick" which sets him once more in his place : so it is throughout the run; at every check he is to be seen off his horse, wiping his forehead. Every time the hounds stoop to their work, he is once more in front, till the pace disposes of him again, only to turn up at the first opportunitywith the good horse sorely distressed 'tis true, yet as happy as a king notwithstanding, though his hat is crushed, and his coat betrays marked evidence of at least one downer. How he gets along is a mystery to all, and he cannot even explain the process himself.

His nerve of course is undeniable, but the places he gets over and through by dint of scrambling are wonderful in the extreme. All timber he believes will break, but his horses are fortunately not entirely of the same opinion. He will get through anything except a bog by dint of sheer weight; and why he does not fall a great deal oftener, is a problem as yet unsolved. Even a brook will not stop him, and he knows the bottoms of most in his own country. When rallied about his frequent scrambles and recoveries, he laughingly says—" Fall ? he daren't fall with me: I should crush him!” He is a capital judge of a horse, and will give two hundred for an animal that Tomtit would opine only fit for the plough. The event proves which is right. If the Welter had been three stone lighter, he would have been the best man in England; but then perhaps, he would never have taken such pains to learn.

Not far in the rear of those we have named, and occasionally overhauling the last, comes a numerous and respectable body who are commonly called the “ Second Flight,” and amongst whom any one specimen will serve as an example of the rest. The“ Second-Flight man is commonly well-dressed, well-mounted, and well-appointed; on a first inspection he might easily be mistaken for an artist of the first class. Whilst the hounds are drawing, his easy seat, assured air, and steady hunter, all look very like business ; and it is only when hats in the air tell of a speedy departure, and the twang of the horn heralds those delightful moments which make the heaviest heart beat with excitement, that we can distinguish the habits of the “ SecondFlight” man. On watching him narrowly, we perceive a slight air of indecision in the very grasp he takes of his bridle: depend upon it his horse knows this better than any one. He looks about him, too, with an irresolute glance, as though seeking for some friend in whom he places unlimited confidence; and till he has singled out that trusty individual, he is completely at a loss. In honest truth, he is looking for his leader, and would much rather forego his start than take the responsibility of cutting out the work for himself. To do him justice, when once he gets in his wake, he will follow his man to the death, but without such a pilot he is helpless as a child. Now, as the body of which our friend is a specimen far out-numbers the select few in whose footsteps it treads, it is obvious that there must be much confusion of precedence and disarrangement of places when half-adozen men all attempt to follow next behind one ; consequently it is amongst the Second-Flight that most of the bickerings, apologies, execrations, and other episodes of the hunting-field, chiefly take place. “Now, sir !" says one ; “Halloa, sir !” says another; “Line sir! line,” hoarsely exclaims a third; whilst should the pace be anything like good, divers instances of riding over and upon one another are safe to occur amongst the hurrying throng. Truly, as the burst works into a run, and the tail gets well drawn out, there is by degrees room for everybody, and the fortunate Second-Flight man enjoys his sport in comfort, and works himself up into a state of edifying enthusiasm and excitement. But if well with them to-day, he cannot hope to be in an equally good position to-morrow. He labours under great disadvantages, and must of necessity lose many a quick thing. In the first place, should he even be close to his leader, common humanity bids him pull till that benefactor is safe over his fences, and these oft-recurring pulls lose a good many strides in the course of fifty minutes; in the second, he has to defeat the whole of his comrades likewise of the S.F., all using every effort to get next the unconscious gentleman sailing away in front, thinking only of the hounds and “what a good horse he is riding.” But the most dreadful catastrophe is when the last-named adventurer falls, and perhaps gets cast in a ditch. The helpless imbecility of his follower is then more easily imagined than described.

For the rest, the Second-Flight man is generally what is indulgently termed a “good sportsman." He is kind and humane in all cases of broken limbs and other accidents. He likes “ the coffee-house" and conversation of the field, though he has likewise an eye to the business in hand. He brings out plenty of sandwiches, with a horn of excellent sherry, of which he is extremely liberal ; and if there should be a white hound in the pack, he probably knows its name, and addresses the inattentive animal on every possible occasion. He is of all ages and sizes, and hunts, as he does everything else-not as a passion, but an amusement.

“The pig-headed rider, though no common character, is here and there to be met with, in crowded countries. As he is soon disposed of, or rather soon disposes of himself, a few words will suffice to describe him. He is the direct opposite of “the Second-Flight man," and would rather jump into a canal, than follow any earthly mortal along the towing-path. He is a gentleman with a crotchet, probably about most matters, certainly upon hunting. Either he has a theory about scent, or ground, or fences, from which he never departs ; or he goes upon the broad principle that the rest of the world are sure to be wrong, and his best chance of being right is to keep by himself; so when the hounds run one way, he rides another. When the field affect the ford, he has a shy at the brook. If yonder stile is pronounced impracticable, he tumbles neck and crop over it, to prove the reverse ; and if assured on good authority that no fox was ever known to break on the south side of such-and-such a spinny, there will be stand in obstinate defiance till the whole chase has faded away in the best run of the season, pointing due north. Once in a year the doctrine of chances befriends him, and he is the only inan out who gets a start. Under these favourable circumstances, he becomes more obstinate than ever ; and riding religiously upon his own system, is very soon deposited at the bottom of some impracticable ravine, from which for the present we can only give him our cordial wishes for a good deliverance,

(To be continued.)

THE SERE AND YELLOW LEAF.

BY CECIL.

Mildness of the Season: the Harvest: Harvest Home: An Autumnal Morning :

Cub Hunting : Digging out Foxes : Confidence in Masters of Hounds : Anecdotes : Grousing : Partridge Shooting: Preservation and Management of Pheasants : The St. Leger : Credulity : Recent Arrangements at Brighton : Hunting Quarters: The Chase : Absent Friends in the East.

The year has nearly run its course, and yet how few of the usual indications present themselves! The middle of October passed away, yet the autumnal tints scarcely traced their wonted glow of harmonious colouring over the sylvan beauties of the earth. 1854 rejoices in a green old age. If it were not from certain recurrent incidents coeval with the period when the leaf is accustomed to fall, which appear annually as the precursors of events which we are wont to anticipate with gladness, we should scarcely imagine we are at the commencement of another hunting season. Trees which are oftentimes leafless early in October, are still clad with verdant foliage, as if they had assumed the privilege of evergreens. Unless some sharp frosts speedily set in, we shall have blind ditches in profusion to stop the progress of ramping, resolute, rushing, raking, rebellious runaway coursers. How gay and joyous those animals appear on the “ opening day!" The old hunter, who is usually when in regular work the very paragon of steadiness, shewing no excitement till the hounds have found and the fox is clear of the copse, is on the first day of the season as full of antics as a monkey ; he cannot restrain his joy: no sooner is the pack thrown off than he throws up his heels, and perchance throws off his master.

How truly delightful, when passing along the country, to behold the well-stored rick-yards, and to know that the grain has been harvested in the most superlative order! Such animating scenes have frequently inspired the muse of fiction to describe them in glowing and extatic terms; but sober prose accords the fact on this occasion, and we are truly happy to join with the cultivators of the soil in their rejoicings. A more delightful autumn never shone over Old