ay's hunting on the Wolds. We
think it will be hard to obtain such happy results from the mere
pen-and-ink regulations of chamber legislators and haters of field
sports. Three generations of the Pelhams turned thousands of acres of
waste in heaths and Wolds into rich farm-land; the fourth did his part
by giving the same district railways and seaport communication. When we
find learned mole-eyed pedants sneering at fox-hunters, we may call the
Brocklesby kennels and the Pelham Pillar as witnesses on the side of the
common sense of English field sports. It was hunting that settled the
Pelhams in a remote country and led them to colonise a waste.

There is one excellent custom at the hunting-dinners at Brocklesby Park
which we may mention, without being guilty of intrusion on private
hospitality. At a certain hour the stud-groom enters and says, "My Lord,
the horses are bedded up;" then the whole party rise, make a procession
through the stables, and return to coffee in the drawing-room. This
custom was introduced by the first Lord Yarborough some half-century
ago, in order to break through the habit of late sitting over wine that
then was too prevalent.

HARRIERS--ON THE BRIGHTON DOWNS.

Long before hunting sounds are to be heard, except the early morning
cub-hunters routing woodlands, and the autumn stag-hunters of Exmoor,
harrier packs are hard at work racing down and up the steep hillside and
along the chalky valleys of Brighton Downs, preparing old sportsmen for
the more earnest work of November--training young ones into the meaning
of pace, the habit of riding fast down, and the art of climbing quickly,
yet not too quickly, up hill--giving constitutional gallops to wheezy
aldermen, or enterprizing adults fresh from the riding-school--affording
fun for fast young ladies and pleasant sights for a crowd of foot-folks
and fly-loads, halting on the brows of the steep combs, content with the
living panorama.

The Downs and the sea are the redeeming features of Brighton, considered
as a place of change and recreation for the over-worked of London.
Without these advantages one might quite as well migrate from the City
to Regent Street, varying the exercise by a stroll along the Serpentine.
To a man who needs rest there is something at first sight truly
frightful in the townish gregariousness of Brighton proper, with its
pretentious common-place architecture, and its ceaseless bustle and
rolling of wheels. But then come