possessing, in an eminent degree, all the fine qualities which have so long distinguished this noble race; he is at present the property of Lord William Beresford. It will he seen upon reference to the engraving, that the great characteristics of the breed, so far as we can judge from the description given of them by old writers, are very truly preserved and fully developed. The head of the blood-hound is the chief point to look at for the indubitable marks of the animal's breed. The forehead should be broad and high, the skin exceedingly loose, the eyes deeply sunk into the head, having a grave contemplative expression, and showing a deep crimson line of flesh under the eye-balls; the ears should be long, low-set, and pendulous, with that graceful line so well shown in the engraving. The chaps should be very thin, with the flesh hanging long and loose. The following lines, from the immortal Shakspeare (no bad judge by the bye, if report speaks true), “Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had banging at them Wallets of flesh," although applied by him in the Tempest to a very different kind of animal, might be taken as a good description of a thorough-bred blood-hound in those particulars. The limbs and body should be large and heavy, and although the colour varies, the prevailing and favourite one is black, and rather light tan; intermixed with grey, along the sides and shoulders; but when of a light colour, as they often are, the extremities, such as the muzzle, ears, and centre of the back and tail, should be dark, which adds much to their noble and picturesque appearance. A very great difference, however, exists between the dog and bitch. In no other kind of dog are the masculine and feminine character so distinctly marked as in the blood-hound; scarcely any of those points, which I have endeavoured to describe as properly belonging to the dog, being developed to any great extent in the bitch, however well bred she may be. Marmion, the subject of the present memoir, has frequently distinguished himself in running deer, and I cannot do better, perhaps, than insert the following extract, from a letter written in a true sportsmanlike spirit, by one who saw him perform last summer for the first time: "I started for Winslow on Sunday afternoon, taking with me Dorcas and Marmion; supped with Mr. Lowndes, and started for the Chase at four o'clock the next morning. We first tried a wood, near Solden, for an out-lying deer, but not being able to find him, we returned to the Chase, and immediately started a fine buck, and after a run of an hour and a half, he was shot by a keeper. During this run, both Dorcas and Marmion behaved in a style that called forth the admiration of Mr. Lowndes and his keepers, although unable afterwards to render any effectual assistance, as they were both thoroughly beaten and winded. We ran several others but were unable to kill, the dogs being knocked up by the two first chases. "You cannot, I am sure, fancy any sport so truly grand as hunting deer in the Chase, with eight couple of blood-hounds, all giving tongue, and making music enough to wake the dead; the only fault to be found is, that if you follow the hounds, the riding is most dangerous. 66 Altogether our day's sport made an impression on me, such as I never shall forget-Buck hunting ends on the 25th September, but when the acorns fall, the does get fat, and they are hunted in like manner with the bucks; we really must go down together some day to see the fun." I have frequently seen Marmion in the course of last winter, in company with several other dogs belonging to me, and to the gentleman whose letter I have just quoted, run a man who had merely trodden upon a piece of flesh, or put a little blood on his shoes, after three or four hours "law;"- often during a frost, and again across a cold and flooded country, almost without a check. A more kind or generous tempered animal does not exist, when kept loose in a kennel, but when chained up, his temper appears to be completely soured, and he is by no means safe; and so far as my observation goes, I should say that although they are generally good tempered, this is a characteristic of the breed. With respect to the mode of training them, I have invariably found that a little practice is all they require, if judiciously managed. It is astonishing how soon, and with what eagerness, they will pursue the scent of anything in the shape of flesh. Care should be taken, however, not to prolong their lessons too much at the commencement (a rule well worth attending to, by the bye, in breaking dogs for any other purpose), and the less frequented the scene of operations is, at first, the better; as they are inclined when young to be very shy of strangers. After they have been induced to stoop readily to the scent of blood, and have gained sufficient confidence to run for a field or two by themselves, the length of the chase may be rapidly increased, and the slightest stain of blood at starting, will enable them if well bred to carry it on through almost every difficulty. I have always adopted the plan of giving them, now and then, a small portion of flesh at the end of the run, as a reward; for I am inclined to think, unless this were occasionally done, they would get "slack," as the scent became cold.-1 may just observe that I have found them give very little tongue when running a man by the foot, only occasionally opening when cheered, or when they suddenly come off the ploughed land into a spot where the scent lies well and strong. DOINGS ON THE DEVIL'S FORK. BY PETE WHETSTONE. To the Editor of the New Sporter Mag. DEAR MISTER EDITOR, Devil's Fork of Little Red River, I am glad to hear you git my first letter. It is a right smart little walk from the "Devil's Fork" to the big city of "London," and I guess it aint every thing that starts from one place for tother that gits there. May be you have hearn tell of one Amos Kendall, that used to be Post Master General of all these diggins-well, he has quit that business, and taken up anotherhis health was mortal bad, and by way of gittin what he calls relaxation," he has turned editor, and is publishing the "Truthful Organ," half a column of which, by particular request, is devoted to "Irish Stories"-well, I reckon when I was in York city, I saw what a sort of a life one editor led: it was the tall man which prints the "Spirit of the Times," and if that sort of life is the way to git "relaxation," why, I'll take to "the harvest field" in preference, when I have a calling that way. Confound the whigs, they had no more manners than to fire off cannon right close to Kindle's house, and his children happened to be asleep, and were most frightened to death. This was cruel treatment, to a man who had done so much for his country; why, he has got our mails so regular and brisk, that Jim Cole darsent bet me 2 to 1 that his old bear dog Hell-fire, can beat the mail from this to Batesville. But I'm jist going to quit the Postmaster General, and tell you a little about the Devil's Fork. Well, we are all going it for old Tippecanoe. Oh! it would do your heart good to hear me, and sister Sal, and Jim Cole, and Bill Spence, and Dan Looney, just sing, "Oh where, tell me where, was your buck-eye cabin made." I tell you it makes the tears stand in a tender-hearted man's eye, when we all git together with a little "hard cider," and sing that. But that aint here nor there. He is gwoine to be our next President-there is no two ways in it, burnt brandy carnt save the little Dutchman. Well, this is a mortal mast-year-white oaks, black oaks, scrub oaks, hickories, hazles, and in fact, all sorts of trees, are full General Harrison, the conservative candidate for the office of president, bears the soubriquet of "Tippecanoe" from the title of one of his victories. of nuts and acorns. The way the bear meat, aud hog meat will be fat this fall, will be "a sin to Crockett." And sich crops of corn, but it is mortal wet, jist about this time;-talking of rain, makes me think of a dispute I had about this moon-she hung right on her horn, and I said wet-three or four said dry, I stuck to wet. They said, when she lay flat of her back it was sign of "Who told the truth," as old Ben Jimboden, said, when he laid cut Billy Black tolerably limber drunk, I tell you. wet. Dan Looney, Jim Cole, and Bill Spence have got a mortal team of dogs; and the way they will have lots of fun this fall and winter, will be very amusing. Dan's old stout dog has got a bad place on his back, where a bear bit him last winter, but a travelling man has advised him to use Holloway's Ointment, which he says will heal it up, and hair it over, before you can say Jack Robinson. May be it is like that medicine a fellow rung in on poor lawyer Mac Campbell, to kill fleas, bed bugs, and all sich small game; and made the lawyer believe it was so heavy that three ounces weighed a pound. We had right smart sprinkling of fun tother day at Squire Wood's grocery-May be you never heard tell of the Squire. Well, he is what Judge Jones calls "a villanous compound of ignorance, stupidity, and vanity." The way the thing happened was just about so-a new comer got his skin right full and begin to cavort, swore he had a little the fastest piece of horse-flesh that ever made a track on that hill—that he could beat any mare or mare's colt, Morphradite, or Gilflint, that water wet or sun dried, one quarter of a mile, with his weight on each, for 100; cash up and no grumbling-Well, Dan happened to have "The burnt blanket" along, and says he, "It is a wedding, Stranger-I take all sich," and begins to draw his pocket-book. The stranger hadent the truck and commenced cider fisting. Well, Dan let him off and went about his business. The stranger got another drink in him, and then commenced cavorting on himself-swore he was a mortal man -a full team-a little the best piece of man-flesh that ever walked that hill; his weight with his shoes off was 180, and he neither gived nor asked a pound. He run on a while-but at last he give Dan the lie-Dan took him a lick side of the head and at it they went-it was awful fightin I tell you—the stranger was no small potatoes-down they went, and up they riz agin. Hurrah for Dan! Go it my Dan? Nobody hollered for the stranger. At last I saw Dan's finger working towards the stranger's eye. They fell, Dan on top. "Take him off. My eye's out." We dragged Dan off, and the stranger was decently whipped, I tell you. We all went to Dan Looney's, where we had fun in abundance. Dan and me yoked two new comers at Old Sledge, Six bits a game, and just as the chickens crowed for day-We had them for eight dollars and twenty-five cents. No more at present. Ever your's, PETE WHETSTONE. A FEW DAYS WITH THE QUORN, THE BADSWORTH, AND MR. FOLJAMBE'S HOUNDS. BY NIMROD. HAVING Completed a three weeks' residence at Melton, living on the fat of the land, and, thanks to my friends, riding the best of cattle, I repaired to Quorn, on a visit to the master of the pack hunting the best country in the world. Among the "lions" of Quorn-in my eyes at least, is the room in which John Raven slept, when he hunted Mr. Meynell's hounds. It is exactly above the boiling house, which, how much-soever it may have added to its warmth, must have been anything but agreeable in other respects. It is astonishing, however, how little persons employed in kennels, or even their employers, regard the unsightly objects and unpleasant odours with which they abound. It will be recollected, that I once stated the answer the Duke of Cleveland gave me to my question, whether, by reason of the kennel at Newton House-his hunting seat, in the Bedale country,— being so near to the drawing-room window, the ladies did not sometimes perceive the savour of its contents? "I dare say they do," replied the duke, "when the wind blows that way, but we think nothing of those things here." Raven's old room is now occupied by Mr. Hodgson's feeder, his wife and five children; and I saw both the wife and the children, on the Sunday, as clean and healthy-looking as if they lived in a palace. Mr. Beckford recommends the feeder "sleeping in a cot, in the adjoining kennel;" so that, speaking by comparison, the otium cum dignitate, is enjoyed by the person thus employed by Mr. Hodgson. I stumbled upon another lion, although cf more modern date. This was Mr. Coulston, late head groom, and factotum in all that regarded the stable management, to Mr. Osbaldeston, from his first start in life, to his final retirement from Quorn. Mr. Coulston is now really in the enjoyment of the otium, &c., being most comfortably domiciled in the village of Quorn, and occupying a considerable portion of land, which, if I may judge from a heifer he killed, of his own breeding and rearing, he keeps in as good heart and condition, as he did the Squire's stud. Then it was impossible for me to have had half an hour's chat with Mr. Coulston, without something turning up about the Squire; and on my mentioning the proposed match between himself and Lord Maidstone, to walk against each other for eight hours. Mr. C. made the following remark:-" Mr. Osbaldeston," said he, " is a most astonishing man to walk; in fact, there is no tiring him. He has often been near |