-told story of a
fox-hunt is to be found in Whyte Melville's "Kate Coventry." But the
Rev. Charles Kingsley has, in his opening chapter of "Yeast," and his
papers in Fraser on North Devon, shown that if he chose he could throw
all writers on hunting into the shade. Would that he would give us some
hunting-songs, for he is a true poet, as well as a true sportsman!

Another clergyman, under the pseudonym of "Uncle Scribble," contributed
to the pages of the _Sporting Magazine_ an admirable series of
photographs--to adopt a modern word--of hunting and hunting men, as
remarkable for dry wit and common sense, as a thorough knowledge of
sport. But "Uncle Scribble," as the head of a most successful Boarding
School, writes no more.

I may perhaps be pardoned for concluding my hints on hunting, by
re-quoting from _Household Words_ an "Apology for Fox-hunting," which,
at the time I wrote it, received the approbation, by quotation, of
almost every sporting journal in the country. It will be seen that it
contains a sentence very similar to one to be found in Mr. Rarey's
"Horse Training"--"A bad-tempered man cannot be a good horseman."

"TALLY-HO!

"Fox-hunting, I maintain, is entitled to be considered one of the fine
arts, standing somewhere between music and dancing. For 'Tally-ho!' like
the favourite evening gun of colonising orators, has been 'carried round
the world.' The plump mole-fed foxes of the neutral ground of Gibraltar
have fled from the jolly cry; it has been echoed back from the rocky
hills of our island possessions in the Mediterranean; it has startled
the jackal on the mountains of the Cape, and his red brother on the
burning plains of Bengal; the wolf of the pine forests of Canada has
heard it, cheering on fox-hounds to an unequal contest; and even the
wretched dingoe and the bounding kangaroo of 'Australia have learned to
dread the sound.

"In our native land 'Tally-ho!' is shouted and welcomed in due season by
all conditions of men; by the ploughman, holding hard his startled colt;
by the woodman, leaning on his axe before the half-felled oak; by
bird-boys from the tops of leafless trees; even Dolly Dumpling, as she
sees the white-tipped brush flash before her market-cart in a
deep-banked lane, stops, points her whip and in shrill treble screams
'Tally-ho!'

"And when at full speed the pink, green, brown, and black-coated
followers of any of the ninety packs which our England maintains, sweep
through a v