Lynmouth, hard by the sparkling waters of the Lynn, whither we are bound, and two above the vale, at Linton-such as few could find fault with; the prospect, moreover, is splendid, and all the requirements for man's internal gratification first-rate. The larder is generally well supplied with fish, flesh, and fowl; the cellar can boast of good wine; the attendance and the stabling are admirable; and best of all, under such circumstances, the charges are moderate." "By St. Hubert! you cause my mouth to water," said I. "The meets of the hounds," he continued, "when hunting this part of the country, are all within easy distance; in fact, the woods you now look on are the resort of deer; and on the days when a-hunting you do not go, there is ample sport with the rod, for the asking, in the Lynn; though the fish are small, their flavour as regards the eating is excellent. And if you are fond of fine scenery, there is none much finer in all England than that of Exmoor and its wooded vales." "Your account, indeed, bids fair, sir, for all that man requires," said I, as we halted, after our long descent into the now dark and silent vale, save from the waters of the Lynn, which rushed bounding onwards towards the Channel. Having dismounted at the hostelry, and delivered our horses into the careful hands of an ostler-who was evidently on the look-out for sportsmen returning from the chase-and seen them well cared for in some first-rate stables, we next sought rooms for ourselves, which were all that a sportsman could desire; and having ordered some creature comforts to be forthwith prepared, refreshed by ablutions from the day's exertions, we proceeded to discuss them. "I thank you for the pleasure of your company," said I to my new acquaintance, who now entered, and introduced himself as Mr. Leigh; "there appears all, and more of comfort here, than you led me to expect, and I am more than ready to do justice to good cheer." So-enter waiter-off covers-behold, trout, fried and boiled, fresh from the Lynn, and a salmon peel-yes, a salmon peel, ye gentlemen who live at home at ease, and have the good sense to study gastronomy for the advantage of your own interior economy, as that of your friends-a S-a salmon peel, rosy as a rose in June, fresh as the dew of morning, and firm as a lobster; followed by a haunch of Exmoor mutton and currant jelly. Exmoor mutton and currant jelly? Yes, Exmoor mutton and currant jelly! Read it again, and pause. Do you know the meaning of such a gastronomical treat, to a man who has galloped over the moor for twelve miles after a gallant pack of hounds on the scent of a red deer, in the glorious month of September, ye sea-bathers at Ramsgate and Margate-ye loungers on the piers of Dieppe and Boulogne-ye steamboat travellers on the Rhine-ye gamblers at Baden-Baden-ye guttlers (excuse the word) at the now second-rate and expensive restaurants in the Palais Royal? Do ye know-I appeal to such menwhat are the joys of a gallop across the fresh, airy, heather-clad, flower-bedecked moor of Exmoor? Do you know what a cut from an Exmoor haunch means afterwards? Not a bit of it. Well, there is time yet to learn. I have given a hint of the former. As regards the latter, I will, asking the talented author's permission, just quote a few words for your edification from the pleasant pages of "Westward Ho!" "Here's a saddle o' mutton! I rode twenty miles for mun yesterday, I did, over beyond Barnstaple; and five years old, Mr. John, it is, if ever five years was; and not a tooth to mun's head, for I looked to that; and smelt all the way home like any apple; and if it don't ate as soft as ever was scald cream, never you call me Thomas Burman." "Humph!" said Jack; "and that's their dinner. Well, some are born with a silver spoon in their mouths." Not unsimilar was our dinner: the mutton smelt forsooth like an apple-a Ripston pippin for choice-and ate, as the worthy Burman would have said, like "scald cream. The trout I have already described. Add to this fare some bottled cider, like nectar, and a far better glass of sherry than is generally found by the wayside, and who need say Die? Not I. Such, my good friends, more or less, is the fare to be found in that valley of sweet waters," called Lynmouth; truly a vale of milk and honey, fresh fish, fat capons, and tender mutton-mun; and as superior to the mistermed Valley of Sweet Waters in European Turkey, and that of the Asiatic borders of the Bosphorus, as is the City of our admirable Queen Victoria, to that of the Sultan Abjul, whom all the fresh air and all the mutton on Exmoor could not make a man of. But dinner is now over; so let us quit the subject gastronomical, and return to that of sport. With this intent, we drew our chairs towards the open window, and looked on a scene such as I have never beheld save in Switzerland. The moon almost at the full, which had risen above the dark woodlands in a cloudless sky, threw its rays across the deep vale, o'er the sparkling rushing Lynn, and on the broad ocean beyond, showing clearly many a white sail on its calm waters, and the Welsh hills clearly in the distance. I scarcely ever beheld a more lovely and more peaceful scene, and expressed myself enthusiastically. "Yes," said Mr. Leigh, as we puffed out clouds of tobacco, and Devonia claims the fragrant weed, "it certainly justifies your enthusiasm. And yet it is strange how comparatively few sportsmen from afar find their way hence." "It is strange, indeed," I replied, "the more so, that the sport I have seen to-day is not only peculiar, but exciting to a degree; carries with it more pleasures than the mere hunting, and is to be had at a season which does not interfere with other hunting, that is, the hunting of one's home county. But, in good faith, you appear to hunt more or less throughout the year in this fair Devonia." "True, of harriers the packs are innumerable, and many first-rate. Those of Mr. T. Daniel, of and the pack of Mr. Locke, of Dulverton, hunt the moor; and rare is the sport they give. The meets of the latter are all in reach of Dulverton; and the former gentleman brings his hounds occasionally to this neighbourhood, and it is to be hoped Mr. Locke will do so likewise. Of fox-hounds I cannot at the moment speak so favourably, but we have had our first-rate sport, and shall again, if a wild moor fox is found. Good the horse and man must be, who can live with hounds capable of killing him. Bring one of your cracks from Melton; the chances are, he would be buried in a bog. But even the best horse and best rider in England would have had his work cut out; in a run, in which 66 I once took a humble part, and which, as far as I recollect, I will detail to you. It took place, if memory fail me not, in February, 1853." Pardon me," said I, rising to ring the bell, "charming as is the scene, the night is chilly; but I cannot shut it out, so we must have something to warm the inward man, and what with the excitement your account of the run will doubtless cause, we shall be cosy." Enter a clean and cheery-looking Devonshire lass. "Mary," said I, "do you know how to brew gin punch ?" "Gin punch! zur; su-urely-no, zur." "Well, Mary, is there any gin in the house-good gin?" "Yes, zur; su-urely." "Then bring a pint. Have you any Mareschino ?" "Mary-chino! don't know, zur; I'll ask." Exit Mary. Re-enters: "Yes, zur, we have," I may here remark that the hotels at Linton and Lynmouth are no common hotels; and there are few things asked for, that are not to be had-in reason. "Then bring some; ditto hot water, and a lemon; ditto white sugar." "Yes, zur." The ingredients being at hand, for the benefit of my sporting friends I offer the following receipt: Pour half a pint of gin on the outer peel of a lemon; then cut the lemon in two, and add the juice; a glass of Mareschino; hot water, and sugar, according to taste. Let the water boil, and do not peel the lemon too thickly. The result will be to the concoctor the pleasant beverage we found it. And the brew being fully prepared, Leigh commenced his account of the run "over the moor." "In the month of February, 1853, if memory fail me not, it was arranged that the Tiverton hounds, then under the mastership of Thomas Carew, Esq., of Collipriest, deservedly one of the most popular sportsmen of the county; the South Devon pack, a subscription pack kept by an attorney at Teignmouth, and hunted by a hard-riding huntsman; and the North Devon hounds, commanded by the wellknown sportsman and rare companion Jack Russell-should meet at Dulverton, the little Melton of the West, and hunt on alternate days for a fortnight. It will naturally be supposed that much enthusiasm took place among the members of each hunt; and great were the sporting festivities of the little town. As regards myself, to the last hour of my life I shall never cease to remember the real sport and merriment we enjoyed. However, I shall confine myself to a brief account of one run, certainly the cream of the fortnight, although each day had its sport and pleasure. Suffice that, like many others, I had come from the South Devon country, as a guest to a most liberal and kind friend, who lived hard by the moor; bringing a nag or two with me; and trusting to his kindness to supply the rest. "The meet was at Whithypool, on the moor, a gorse cover hard by the little hamlet of that name supplying the gallant fox. The morning was one of the most brilliant I ever saw, with a dense hard white frostso hard, that on first leaving a warm bed, I fancied that hunting was out of the question. However, the sun had great power, and at halfpast nine the guests of the house were in the saddle, and away nine miles to the meet. The horse I was riding, which belonged to my kind host, was by no means what is termed a lamb-in fact, a thorough-bred animal of high spirit; and when we reached the moor, and found himself on what after midday was turf, but at that early hour a sort of hard green pavement, his caperings were decidedly not for choice. However, we arrived at length safely before a little hostelry, which if I recollect rightly, bore the sign of the Fox and Goose,' at the entrance of which stood some four score of right good sportsmen, gathered from the three hunts, enjoying the sun and their cigars, to which they had added sundry jugs of hot egg-flip-no bad accompaniment to so cold a morning, believe me. At midday the earth, hitherto iron-bound, became hasty pudding, and the order to mount and away was given, to the joy of all. "It chanced to be the turn of the South Devon to hunt on that everto-be-remembered day, and no pack could be brought to their work in more perfect condition, or more fit to go. Whether the credit was due to their master or not, I cannot say; if so, let the merit be his. "May I thank you for a soupçon more hot water? Thank you; the punch is excellent. "Well, I said it was the turn of the South Devon hounds, and of course the South Devon men were up, and anxious for the fray; for even in that land of flowering myrtles and "scald cream," there are to be found a man or two, hard to beat, with top boots on, and hounds running with a burning scent, be the county even Northamptonshire. "The run may be thus briefly described; to do so thoroughly would take a week: Hounds thrown into gorse; three minutes and away; over some high banks we ride; land on the other side (the shady side); and slide half-across a grass field; gallop down a steep vale; up a rough lane; on to a wide moor, away and away for your life, hounds running like a flock of sheep, though a trifle quicker: 12 miles. One slight check; away for the earths ofNo, he has turned. Why so? Mr. Smith's harriers are out, and he dare not face harriers a-head, with foxhounds behind him; so away and away again, over bleak moor, stone wall, through bog and brook, for many a mile-the packs joined at his brush. Four-score gallant horsemen assembled at the find: how many will there be at the finish? At this point, twenty-six remain. Forward! is still the cry. Anon, sixteen more are hors du combat (pardon the French), succumbed to pace and distance-are in fact done to a stand still. Ten good men and true, with horses far truer and better than the men, still float as it were over the moor. 'It is no fox,' says one. It is a fresh one, says another.' It is Satan, with a fox's brush,' says a third. A mighty fence appears across the moor; man says Yes; tired horse says No. Physical powers cannot last for ever. Six of the four-score alone remain, Twenty-five miles of hill and dale, moor and heather, have been passed; still the cry is 'Forward!' Who leads the van? 'Tis the master of the harriers; he joined us comparatively fresh, followed by the little mousy, and a grey, and a black, and a brown, and Tom Leigh last of the six, toiling up the hill; his horse has cried Enough!' Night closed over this wonderful run: eight-and-twenty miles, with one slight check. And now "'Tis midnight, and silence with unmoving wings Patience, and the kindness of my friend, Don Tuxfordio del Toboso, who keeps the MSS. of Squire Linton under lock and key, will enable me soon to tell you how the run ended, and what became of the fourscore sportsmen, who had met at Whithypool, on that long-remembered morning; how some of the horses, and none of the men, died on the moor, and how many were nearly dying for want of a good supper, which they were compelled to eat with their breakfast. (To be continued.) THE ARAB STEEDS OF INDIA. BY AUCEPS. It is a remarkable fact, that, whilst equestrian exercises are upheld and supported in this country with a spirit unmentionably extravagant, in all matters that may relate to the turf, the fence, the field, the source of our primitive pride, the noble, (if I may be permitted to use that term, in reference to the animals I am treating upon) the "Blood-royal Arabian" horse, from which our best drafts of high-bred cattle are derived, has been little considered. The subject is worthy attention on a twain account. In the first place, the particular castes of horses may be considered to cope with each other, according to their characteristic value. In the second place, the classification of the above animal is almost alphabetically laid down in the form of a pedigree, according to the qualities of stock from which he or she (horse or mare) proceeded; and these distinguishing indices, as to character, in relation to the one or the other, may be looked upon as titles in reference to the excelling properties of either. The most commended great-grandsires of our modern Speedwell studs are attributed to the Godolphin and Darnley Arabians; and if all be true that has been assigned to them, in the language or dictionary of stable equi-ology, for "mettle," they deserve a first-class position in the annals of the Turf Calendar. To go through the equine genealogy of their breeds (and the brood mares were extensively served from this first-rate stock of excellence) would fill every page in the volume I have devoted my best attentions to. It will be enough for me, in this place, to define a few particular and essential features pertaining to the Arab horse, and leave the case in the hands of others for their mature and deliberate consideration. One of the most remarkable occurrences on record is that of an Arab mare having been imported from the Imaum of Muscat as an especial |