property of Mr. E. R. Harrison, Cottingham, Hull. He is a neat, shortlegged, compact horse, with muscular thighs and hind-quarters, good action, and he stands a little short of 15.2. He won Lord Londesborough's cup at the Bridlington Show last week, and was third last year at Northallerton for the four-year-old prize, as well as for the cup given by the Hon. W. E. Duncombe, being beaten in both instances by Mr. J. B. Booth's colt by Voltigeur. At Hull his chief opponent was a brown mare exhibited by Mr. C. Harrison, of Malton, and sold by him at the show for £200 to Mr. Woffinden, of Malton. She is by Theon, and one of the finest mares it was ever our fortune to see; her shoulders, back, ribs, quarters, thighs, and legs come as near perfection as possible; but as Doctors differ,' so do judges, and between two such wonderfully good animals, it is a difficult matter to decide.

"Mr. Barkworth and Mr. Eamonson showed hunting-like animals, which along with some of the four-year-old horses already mentioned, formed the cream of the class, la créme de la créme."

The Horncastle Fair has been the largest and best that has been held for many years; but the opinion gains ground that it ought to be confined to one week. There were horses and dealers in plenty in the town by the 3rd of the month; and, in all, about eleven hundred horses left by rail, and nearly as many came that way. Two of Theon's half-bred yearlings were sold for £60 apiece-no small tribute to this rare old horse. The foreigners were very large purchasers. They said that they had licked the Austrians, and they were determined to buy at any price. War prices must indeed rule on the Paris horse 'Change for some time to come, or there will be no margin for these adventurous speculators.

Cub-hunting has begun well everywhere. Clark got to work at Silk Wood on the 11th, Charles Treadwell on the 22nd, and John Walker, at Bettisfield, on the 27th. The latter has got fitted with a smart-looking first-whip in Harry Tocock, who has whipped in for seven seasons to his father, with Mr. Garth's. There are lots of foxes in the country. The Old Berkshire began on the 27th in Tubney Wood, and ran five cubs to ground. It was a fearfully wet morning; and as the master sat on a trunk of a tree, at the close of the sport, he held his legs up, and the water ran in torrents from his boots. The foxes are very plentiful, and the two litters which wery discovered at the close of the last season in the wood-stack at Baglee Wood are in high preservation.

IN PENAL SERVITUDE,

ON DARTMOOR,

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY E. CORBET.

These tria juncta in uno are three old offenders-all appearing to have seen some service and some trouble-bearing strong marks of the branding-iron. By the look of their knees they have evidently been in a Penitentiary, but out, and again in the hands of the gaoler, who does not put much confidence in them, by the chains on their legs, and the way he keeps guard. The bay with his back towards us, switching his tail, and "looking for Plymouth," no doubt wishes he could give the keeper leg bail. The brown leaning on the old grey seems to think his a hopeless case, and the poor old blind grey's time is evidently nearly up -the halter is already round his neck.

We were only once at Dartmoor, some five or six years back, and not then in the prison, mind! We were stopping with a friend near Totnes, and met Mr. Trelawny's hounds within about a mile of the Moor, and had a bit of a burst away for Ivy Bridge. The view on the moor was very wild and grand-quite a different country to what we had been accustomed to, having hunted mostly in the Midlands.

We by no means thought it good galloping or pleasant (very different from Ilsley Downs), as here and there, every twenty yards almost, were large white bits of rock peeping through the heather and rough grasssome "parfectly" hidden (as poor William Mac D—would have said), and we once or twice just escaped a header. We saw, too, what we certainly never saw in the Midland Counties. The horse of an officer having thrown a fore shoe, and left one of the stubs in, which appeared very loose, the captain, as the horse went lame, got off, and tried hard to remove it. He knocked it first one way, then the other, with the hammer of his hunting whip: next he had a pull at it with his fingers; then tried his knife-all to no purpose. At last, to our horror for the horse was very fidgetty, he put his teeth to it! Fancy putting your teeth to the stub in a horse's hoof!

The fields there are something like farm yards, with high mud walls a little on the incline. When you are in some of them, the banks are so high you cannot see into the next. A Devonshire man showed us how he got over the country. He had an Exmoor galloway about 14 hands; the fence was a bank, with a tremendous drop into the next field nearly perpendicular; it put us more in mind of jumping out of a parlour window in town, and slipping into the area. Well, he got off, put the pony's head at the window say (or bit of a gap, for there are hedges on the top sometimes), gave him a crack over the back, caught hold of the Exmoor's tail: up they were on the sill, and into the area before you had time to say, Adieu !

UP THE GLEN.

Once more upon the heather-once more drinking the keen Highland air, that glows and kindles through the system like a cordial; once more rejoicing in the lonely freedom of the hill. What though the ascent seem steeper than it did, never mind how many years ago? What though the moss-hags are considerably farther apart than they used to be, and no longer within the compass of a spring, once elastic and untiring as the red-deer's? What though the breath comes shorter at our need, and the toil-drops chase each other down a furrowed cheek, while we can yet remember the day when we were not afraid to hold our own with the roughest-footed gillie on Dee-side, and could breast the stiffest braes of Athole, without turning a hair, whistling "Tulloch Gorum" the while? As the wheel goes round shall we complain that we revolve with it? As the corn is yellowing in our neighbour's fields, shall we repine that ours doth not remain eternally in the blade? Rather let us rejoice that the ears have not yet fallen to the reaper; thankful for the Past, cheerful in the Present, hopeful for the Future.

Metaphorically, as well as physically, we often stop in the ascent now, and look back upon the view. 'Tis a bonny bit, is our glen; and equally beautiful in the various changes of the passing seasons. Antony says of Cleopatra:

"Time doth not wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety."

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And whether she be clad in the tender colours of her girlhood's spring, or the blushing purple of her summer-prime, or even the wintry snows of her widowhood, she is ever majestic, ever fascinating, ever herself. Perhaps, of all her moods, we like her best as she is to-day when the full flush of her beauty is just verging upon its autumn; toned down and softened, yet rich and lustrous stillwhen September, with its calm and dappled skies, has succeeded to the glow of August, and the birches and alders scattered more and more sparingly as we advance farther and farther up the glen, are already tinged, but not discoloured with the hues of decay. Here we love to stop under the waterfall, and feast our eyes upon the varied beauty stretching far away beneath our feet. The graceful fern is waving and whispering in the morning breeze, mingled here and there with the purple heather, yet forming with its delicate array a connecting link between the wild mountain and the wooded glen. Down the steep sides of that rushing stream, born far up in Craig-Altyre, and leaping within ear-shot fifty feet of sheer descent over yon smooth-faced granite, larches and firs are growing together in picturesque confusion, increasing in size and numbers as the eye follows the line of woodland deeper and deeper down the glen. T foliage of the oak coppice, stretching up the nearest slope, is black in

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