The above-named party was mounted at Melton by some friends; but, by giving fair notice, thoroughly good and well-made hunters can always be secured by any of the Midland hunting centres by those who do not care to rail their own horses from London. Market Harborough is still more accessible than Melton, being but two hours from London, and situated in the centre of a splendid grass country, hunted by Mr. Tailby; while a smart trot of eight miles would bring the sporting _voyageur_ to Kilworth Sticks and the Pytchley, provided the right day was selected. Rugby, too, is equally accessible, and boasts a fair hotel, where the charges are not more extortionate than they are at Harborough, which is saying a good deal. The hunting in the vicinity of Rugby, however, amply compensates for a little overdoing in the matter of charges. It is scarcely possible to go to Rugby the wrong day to get at hounds within a reasonable distance, and some of the meets of that admirable pack, the North Warwickshire, are frequently at such picturesque and convenient trysting places as Bilton Grange--now celebrated by the Tichborne trial, and sworn to as the place where the "Claimant" was not. However this may be, a straight-necked and wily gentleman is generally to be found at home, either in the plantations of the grand old demesne or close by at Bunker's Hill or Cawston Spinney, who is tolerably certain to lead the claimants for his brush a merry dance across the glorious grass country to Barby, Shuckborough, or Ashby St. Leger. The fences, too, in this part of the Midlands are just the thing for a lady's hunting, and, while quite big enough in most cases to require a little doing, they are by no means so formidable as those in High Leicestershire and the Quorn country. The old-fashioned bullfincher is rare, and double ox fences equally so, while there is a pretty variety of nice stake-and-binders, pleached hedges, and fair-water jumping, with an occasional flight of rails, big enough to prove that the fair equestrian's hunter can do a bit of timber clean and clever. In fact, I know no country I would as soon select for a young lady to commence regular hunting in as that in the vicinity of Rugby. Combe Abbey, Misterton, and Coton House are all sweetly English, as well as thoroughly sporting places of meeting, and the truly enjoyable trot or canter over the springy turf, which everywhere abounds by the roadside in these localities, and makes the way to covert so pleasant, has more than once been pronounced by hunting critics to be more desirable than hunting itself in parts of England where the road is all "Macadam," and the land plough, copiously furnished with big flint stones, such as one sees in Hampshire. _Apropos_ of which charming country there is a sporting tale prevalent in this real home of the hunter.