manding the unbounded view of miles and miles of hill and dale, of undulating fields and downs; on the well-kept lawn in front of some princely mansion: a spot sacred on other occasions from the vulgar gaze; or, as in the present instance, on the well-worn surface of some quiet village green;

"Delightful scene!

Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs;
And in each smiling countenance appears
Fresh blooming health and universal joy."

What subjects do not frequently such scenes present for the poet's art, or for the painter's skill!

How, on such occasions, oft stand forth to an observant eye, many a national peculiarity or trait, brought then, prominently into sight by the love of that manly sport, which appears indigenous to our island race!

Truly has it been said, that the huntingfield — an English fox-hunting field—is the leveller of those casual and artificial distinctions of station, wealth, and rank. Even the

distinctions of age and youth, are here for a time forgotten, together with all grovelling, worldly, and mercenary ideas. Yes, indeed! pride of wealth, of station and title, appear, for the moment, to be unanimously dismissed on approaching the covert side!

Tenant and landlord, are here brought together, in friendly converse and communion; old acquaintances are oft renewed; old feuds forgotten; human nature then invariably wears her most smiling garb; the poor man feels equal to the millionnaire; the sturdy yeoman mounted on his sleek and well-fed steed, in rustic independence, goodhumouredly prepares for an amicable contest of horsemanship, of skill, and nerve, with even the lord of the domain. Nay, the very ploughboy sometimes unyokes his team, or the butcher casts aside his tray, to join in this noble, manly, and social sport, open at once to rich and poor, to the peasant and the peer!

What, next, can equal that joyous moment, when the melodious music of an "opening" pack, proclaims sly Reynard to be a-foot!

"The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods, "In the full concert join."

What a joyous burst of enthusiastic feeling then invariably thrills through every breast! grief, care, and sorrow fly affrighted from such sounds; the boiling blood of youth then gushes through the sluggish veins of decrepitude and old age; childhood grasps the saddle with all the courage and energy,-with the strength of manhood and of youth; even the gentler sex will on such occasions,—

"Their garments loosely waving in the wind,

And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks,
Cast fear aside, and tempt the dangerous leap!"

Yes! hunting the "joyous craft," is assuredly the true leveller of all distinctions; the dispeller equally of grief, and age, and care, and long may it continue England's favourite sport!

*

Although other sites, as regards the beautiful and picturesque, might possess more to recommend them to the notice of a Landseer; give me, for the "meet" of a pack of fox

hounds, the humble and unassuming rural attractions of the "village-green;" especially such rural attractions as those presented by the primitive, old-fashioned, truly “countryfied" looking village of Deanhurst: the small straggling hamlet in the vicinity of Brock Hall, where we all assembled on the eventful day, the incidents of which I am now about to relate.

The village itself, consisted of a few whitewashed, straw-thatched, snug-looking, little cottages: pictures of humble neatness and comfort, only to be met with in our happy land. Content and competence, here gleamed through the humble eave-shadowed lattices, and peered from the trellised, rustic porchways of each rural abode, with its small plot of garden carefully and trimly kept, and separated by a row of palings, or a well-clipped holly-hedge, from the adjoining village-green. In the midst of the latter, stood an ancient, bare, gnarled, and blasted oak, of whose age no record lived, but which was probably the patriarch of the neighbouring wood or "hurst,"

from whence the little hamlet had derived its

name.

A rude wooden bench surrounded this old forest king, whose trunk scarped out by the hand of time, seemed to uphold a tall, straight, and tapering may-pole: one of the last existing records of the good old English sports of former times.

"Those healthful sports, that graced the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each look, and brightened all the green."

At the further end of the hamlet, embowered in ivy and evergreens, the "village preacher's modest mansion" rose; beyond which, and peering over the now almost leafless trees, might be seen the low white spire of the humble parish church:

"Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay,

There in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school;"

near which stood the grocer's and the butcher's shops. Yon stunted old pollard, marked the spot where the "village Vulcan" carried on

VOL. I.

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