There were but three days without rain, to the best of my recollection, during the whole of the above-named month, in the year of grace 1860. Behold me, then, congratulating myself on the prospect of at last reaching the covert-side without being wet through, as I mounted my horse at the door of the Haycock, and caught a glimpse of Miss Lushington’s black head above the window-blinds, not wholly uninterested in my departure. The fixture was at Claybridge, less than three miles from Soakington; and as the famous pack to which I almost exclusively confine my attentions meets at half-past ten, I had ample time to breakfast comfortably, and ride my hunter on. Although not sufficiently Spartan in my habits to do without a covert-hack for long distances, I have found out, in common with most men, I believe, that one’s horse never carries one so pleasantly as when one has ridden him to covert oneself. Apple-Jack is a calm and deliberate animal enough, with none of the crotchets and fancies peculiar to so many superior hunters; and yet even he seems always a little less staid and careful than usual when he has carried my groom a dozen miles or so along the road. Few sensations are more enjoyable than to jog quietly to the meet, after a leisurely breakfast, with a good cigar in one’s mouth, a horse that feels like a hunter under one, and the satisfactory conviction that one is in plenty of time. It is not my province nor my intention to describe minutely the Castle-Cropper hounds. All the world knows that the Earl of Castle-Cropper is a thorough sportsman; that you might hunt with him from year’s end to year’s end, and, except to beg you civilly to “hold hard,” never hear him open his lips; and that he is supposed to be as facetious and agreeable in private life as he is reserved and silent in his public capacity. The same world knows, too, that Will Hawk, who was with his father, the old Earl, in the famous days of Musters and Tom Smith, a sort of heroic period “_ante Agamemnona_” is the prince of huntsmen, and the flower of veterans; that the horses are undeniable, the servants respectable, well dressed, and trustworthy, though scarcely so quick as they might be; the whole thing goes like clockwork, and the hounds are beyond all praise. Well they may be; they have had that advantage which is so indispensable to the perfection of a pack, and, in these days of change, so often denied it, viz., time. In the best part of a century, a uniform height, an equal excellence, and a family likeness are to be attained, with constant perseverance and unlimited expense. From generation to generation the Earls of Castle-Cropper have devoted their leisure, their money, and their attention, to this favourite hobby. The present successor may well be satisfied with the result.