and mortification, he was informed the place he was at was Dorking.

Humorous incidents were plentiful at these old

hunts.

On one occasion a wealthy and well-known London brewer thought proper to join a pack of foxhounds, and appeared with the then unfamiliar moustache. He was well mounted, and dressed in a very conspicuous manner, in consequence of which a French nobleman who happened to be present was so struck by his appearance that he asked the master, who knew something of French, if he were not un grand militaire. "No," was the reply, "il n'est qu'un Chevalier de Malte."

This Frenchman just knew enough of the English language to make his conversation highly amusing.

On another occasion out with hounds, he said, "I forget vat you say ven de hound run de fox without see him."

"Oh," said the master, "I suppose you mean the

scent."

"Ah! to be sure," said the Frenchman; "I always forget de "sante."

Soon after this explanation the hounds found their fox, and began to run very hard. Monsieur, having jumbled together all that could be derived from the word "smell," shouted out, "Bravo, bravo, but you have van ver fine stink now!"

A favourite pack of foxhounds with sportsmen from London was the Old Surrey, which about 1770 used often to meet at Peckham Rye. Forest Hill was

another favourite meet; at that time very capital runs were enjoyed in the neighbourhood of Sydenham, which for miles round was surrounded by open

commons.

Up to 1810 the kennels were at East Hall, Bermondsey, the residence of Mr. Henry Dudin. At that time the Old Surrey frequently left off drawing at one o'clock, so that the members might be on 'Change in the City at four p.m. Many of those City sportsmen had only time to cover their hunting dress with long coats.

The costume of the hunt was then green, and a beaver top-hat. Some few members, however, wore pink. About 1810, when the Honourable George Nevill, grandfather of the present writer, was master, the kennels were moved to Godstone, where he lived at Flower Place.

In those days the Old Surrey foxhounds hunted four days a week, and their country extended on the north to Bromley and Beckenham, and nearly to Sydenham; south to Lingfield; east to Brasted and Chelsfield; west to Banstead, Carshalton, and Mitcham.

A gentleman alive a few years ago-perhaps alive to-day-remembered as a boy having seen the huntsman, Tom Hills, killing a fox near West Croydon Station.

Tom Hills, one of a famous hunting family, became huntsman in 1816, when Mr. Maberly was master. This gentleman rode to hunt, rather than hunted to ride. The kennels were then at Shirley, near Croydon.

When Mr. Maberly had the Old Surrey, old Tom -a character in his way, who continued to act as huntsman till 1861-was one evening instructed by the master to get the finest fox possible at Leadenhall Market, in order to make a certainty of sport the next day, when there was to be a particularly smart lawn meet. Tom started from the kennels, then at Shirley, rode post haste to London, discovered the object of his inglorious pursuit, and, having strapped him gingerly, deposited him, legs upwards, in the capacious pocket of a large blouse which he wore when moving cubs to any part of the country where they might be required.

As he was cantering home over Streatham Common, he was stopped by a truculent highwayman with the summons, "Your money or your life!" Tom's reply was characteristic.

"I've got no money," he said; "I'm only a servant. And as to my life, why, you wouldn't take that, surely it isn't worth powder and shot."

The ruffian persisted, however, but Tom's nerve and pluck did not desert him. He thought of the fox which he carried, and told his assailant that he would find money in his pocket, indicating the one that contained the treasure. A dive was at once made into it by the highwayman; he was severely bitten, and while he was howling in agony Tom cantered blithely away. His remark was afterwards, "I could have downed him with my old hunting whip, but I wanted to see a bit of sport."

During Mr. Maberly's tenure of the mastership

some very good runs with bag foxes took place, which, however, he managed so cleverly that few of the field discovered what they were hunting. He was practically forced to resort to such arts in order to keep the game alive. Regardless of expense, he showed sport in what, as far as foxes were concerned, was a wilderness, and those who beat him subsequently did no little to stock that part of Surrey.

In the neighbourhood of London drags were often resorted to in order to help matters out. One of the best runs in which man, horse, or hound could be engaged in any country took place with a drag which was managed so adroitly that the secret was not for years afterwards known to any individual except the master who concocted it, his groom, who rode the drag like an out-and-out trump, and a farmer, who got the groom out of harm's way, and as deftly put down the bag fox in a small covert. So complete was the deception, that one old and excellent sportsman declared he had a casual glimpse of Reynard (this was during the drag) going over a fence.

In Tom's young days parts of Surrey, now covered with houses, were quite rural in character. Here was the snug retreat of many a wealthy cit; and the meads, the time-stepping mower, the hay-cart, the scattered herds, and a variety of rustic scenery together formed a charming picture, often enlivened by a pretty milkmaid, who, as old Isaac Walton said, "had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fear of many things that would never be, as too many men too often do."

As time went on, and London grew, the meets of the Old Surrey had of necessity to take place farther away from town, whilst rows of houses began to cover many a field over which generations of City sportsmen had galloped. As late, however, as the middle of the last century some very irregular packs used to make attempts at hunting quite close to the metropolis.

In 1840, for instance, an announcement appeared in Bell's Life in London to the effect that "the Surrey Hounds" would meet on Wimbledon Common on a certain day, upon which in due course a very motley field assembled at the "Bald-faced Stag," named as the rendezvous.

After a considerable time the huntsman-a badlydressed young man in a green fustian shooting coat, together with some other flash-looking youths, got up in what they evidently considered sporting stylearrived.

These sportsmen, in answer to enquiries as to the whereabouts of the hounds, said that they were in an outhouse till a sufficient sum could be raised to remunerate the owner of a tame fox at Wandsworth who was waiting for a messenger with the money, and after some wrangling a sufficient sum was subscribed, and a pony-cart sent for the victim, or rather victims (for there were two). These having arrived after an hour's delay, the hounds were let out and a move made towards the Windmill.

The "Surrey hounds," which, it appeared, were kept by various individuals at Clapham, were then