the spot. Thus the Speedies and the sea scarts are equally tried in this life.

This great fish dealer has 200 men in work, and upwards of twenty stations on the Fife and Montrose coasts, as well as on the Earn and Tay, and his rent for the present season is considerably above £9,000. The Fife chain of stations begins at the bend beyond Drumley, and goes down nearly to St. Andrews. The stations are on the Muir, three or four hundred yards from the shore, and at each of them he keeps an overseer and four men. The old building with the low door, the earth and heather on the top, and a load of boxes with cord handles in a pile beside it, looks like a cave of stalactites when you first enter. Then as the light breaks in, a great cock-salmon's beak or grilse's head is found protruding from the rough ice; and when the overseer looks at his book you may hear that "96 salmon and grilse were taken yesterday." They had just taken something more than they expected, in a shark which had three brace of young ones swimming after her, and she whelped ten brace more on the grass before she died. She would have made the fortune of a caravan, but there she lay neglected among the sedge, with her green back and pale-slate belly, and all the little things around her; and her captors only remarked that she had a three-year-old mouth and a sand-paper hide.

Trying the nets was the sight of the day. The man climbs along the side-rope, and takes the fish out of chamber after chamber, and slips his cord through the gills, and at last he descends from his perch, and wades out, dragging after him a regular bouquet of all weights from 40 to 5lbs. Sometimes they are all cocks or all hens, and on the rivers, especially during September and October, hens get very voracious when they are near spawning, and take the fly much more easily. The difference is so marked, that towards the latter end of one September, Mr. Speedie kippered ninety hens, and only two cocks. The fishing is very good at Tent's Muir when the east wind blows right in to the shore; but there has been no vintage like that of '30. In the sea they always go before the wind, and in rivers they swim right into the wind's eye, like ducks up a decoy.

But we have looked over all the fishing stations, and explored the old nets in the granary, which are to be sold into the paper trade, and we are once more driving over the long stretch of hard sand towards Eden Mouth, rich in spotted trout and mussel beds. The black slug and the mussel scarp are quite a disputed point between the solan geese from the Bell Rock and the St. Andrew's fishermen who take them off to Aberdeen and Peterhead as a bait for haddock and cod, and all the other treasures of deep-sea fishing.

There our fishing ends for the day. We have no time for St. Andrews, that fine old city in decay, with its Cathedral and Palace of Cardinal Beatson, and the colleges to which thousands of students— Campbell and Chalmers, Ivory and Leslie, Leyden and Milne, Playfair and Ferguson-journeyed so reverently in their day. That gorse on the hill, dear to the Fife, is passed in our homeward ride; so is the jaunty beaver with the twig in his mouth, over the hatter's shop

in Dundee, and we are at last in the Carse of Gowrie, and exceedingly thankful that we are not a wood-pigeon.

We met with the etching of the Wemyss presentation picture at Mr. Gourlay Steell's R.S.A., who has a very beautiful horse' head, life size, in the Edinburgh Academy. His lordship is on Dumfries, Shannon on Knockhill (the crack of the stable), the first whip on the grey Pallinsburn, now out of commission, and Bob Carlyle (who was laid up lately with a broken arm-the first accident he ever had) on Wellesbrook. Wark Castle is in the distance, and the whole picture is full of life. The Cup hounds at Guisboro' hold a prominent place, and so does the terrier, waiting no doubt for the bit of bread which bis lordship always brings in his pocket to the meet. The picture is a great contrast to those dreadful stereotyped ones, of a man leaning on his horse's neck with a hound or two at his feet. Among the sporting pictures from Mr. Steell's hand is Mr. Hay of Leatham Grange in Forfarshire. He has had harriers round there for forty-three seasons, and the faithful Fitchit, his groom, kennel huntsman, and factotum, shares the picture with him.

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We saw very little more in Scotland. Gunboat had recovered from the severe bite which disabled him for the Waterloo contest, and a nicer dog we have hardly ever met with. Coorooran and Oscar were still well and heartwhole, and their owner was pondering which of them to take for the Veteran Stakes at the Scottish National. black bitch with white marks, we think by the latter, pleases him as much as any of his young ones, and he has called her "Granite." In the way of blood stock very little was stirring. An Aberdeenshire farmer had bewildered the natives by dropping on to them with "Yellow Jack by Marlborough, sire of Blink Bonny, dam of Blair Athol," a horse which he bought in Yorkshire. They are learned on bullocks, but not great in blood-stock pedigrees about Bon Accord, and therefore the description was not challenged; but still, they thought he was "coming it a little too strong," and have written over the Border to search the stud-books, as the horse is not very thorough-bred in his looks. The General and Sir Walter Scott were against him. Caller Ou, we hear, will not go to the stud this season, as so much is required of her; but a subscription for her is on Newminster's list for '66. Blood Royal, the winner of the last Caledonian Cup, is in his barn above the Dumfries kennel, and not likely to run this year. Joe Graham says he would be a very good one "if he only had a heart in his belly;" but no horse could have run the three miles more steadily at Ayr. He was trained principally in the Holme at Hoddam Castle, where Mr. Sharpe has now three in work once more. His late brother The General had generally something training there along the meadows by the river side (so great, in the otter season), over the rustic bridge, and up Repentance Hill. Annandale is still in the flesh; but his owner, Mr. John Johnstone, has put one of his blood mares to his Arab, Minuet. Mr. Sharpe has two foals by Chevalier D'Industrie, whose owner, Mr. Painter, intends to sell his yearlings in future at Chester.

Up to the 4th of the month, the Badminton had good sport, since which the weather has been as bad as it could be, and the ground

as hard as iron; still they have had some pretty hunting runs. The Pytchley have done very little since the good day chronicled in Bell. On Monday week they went out with twelve degrees of frost and a bitter wind at half-past one, and found, but were driven home by the cold. On the Friday they were at Lamport, with lots of foxes, but no scent; and on Saturday it was still hard, cold, and slippery, and thick snow at Badby Wood. The steeple-chases were stopped by weather at Rugby, but the hounds persevered, and hunted a fox to ground, and then, as the farmers say, they "spaded him."

Weather with The Grove has been very stormy, and the scent very catching. Still they have had some good hunting runs, with kills. On March 13th they had a very good twenty-seven minutes from Gamston Wood to Babington Springs, to ground; on March 15th, a good one hour and twenty minutes from Sandbeck, and killed in Edlington Wood. Then came a quick sixteen minutes from Maltby Wood; but a cur crossed the fox, and brought them to slow hunting. They persevered for nearly an hour, and gave it up; and killed another fox after a sharp thirty-five minutes, in Kingswood. They have also had a good forty-five minutes from Burton Willows, and ran into him in the open. They then chopped a vixen fox in Littleborough Gorse, found again, and had fifteen minutes and lost. Saturday was a good Forest day, with a kill. The entry has been a most capital one.

The Brocklesby have been able to do very little. On Monday, the 20th, a very rough, stormy day, they found a fox in a spinney, and the body of the hounds got away close to him; but the scent did'nt hold over a couple of fields. They found again, but with the same result. Now and then they have had a gallop, but nothing like really good sport.

From The Quorn there comes the same complaint about weather. February 27th was a good day from Wartnaby Stone Pits. They had a nice gallop to ground at Broughton, and then one-and-a-half hours with their second fox, and killed. February 28th was a similar day from Ratby Burrows, but the afternoon's run was half-an hour shorter. On March 7th they met at Beeby, and had a very good day, and killed a brace of foxes from Scraptoft; and then had a very fast fifteen minutes, and a good forty-five minutes to ground. March 9th: Met at Belton, had a pretty forty-five minutes, killed in the open, and had a good hunting run in the afternoon. March 16th: Met at Swithland Slate Pits, had a fast fifteen minutes and killed their first fox, and split up an afternoon one in thirty-six minutes-very fast. March 17th: Gaddesby, three foxes to ground and a very hard day. March 24 Met at Lowesby Hall, a very good forty-five minutes, and killed, and then an equally fine fifty minutes from Scraptoft to Billesdon Coplow. A very good entry of young hounds have come in. Edwin Summers, the second whip, leaves at the end of the season, and Mr. Clowes is at present in want of one.

A friend sends us the following notes on the Waterloo Cup, which was not concluded when we went to press last month :-"I thought,' says he, "more of Rebe than I ever did before; she was faster, cleverer, and more in earnest. She lived through her turns like a

vessel under a press of sail, keeping always to the points which she meant to make. Perhaps the most interesting course of the meeting was the one between her and Chloe. The black came away with a strong lead, seemingly from Chloe not having so good a view of the hare, if she was not altogether unsighted; but at the turns, Chloe seemed to have a greater power of wrenching herself about, and shoving away to her work. The course was doubtful for a considerable time, each of them being a mistress of the art in her own peculiar style. Towards the close Rebe half came down, when Chloe took full advantage of her own position, and stuck to her game, keeping it to herself, and winning handsomely. In the Purse, Rebe went faster than she did in the Cup, and was quite unchallenged. In her further running, Chloe seemed as if she could have done more than she did, as she was too anxiously looking out how she could kill the game quickest. She, too, is a faster, and naturally a better, bitch than we had ever thought her to be; and she proved it by winning the Altcar Club hollow, the next month, for the third time. King Death didn't run well with Donald in his first course, and seemed to lack his usual speed and courage, which might be owing to his having been kept over for a week. This was made more ap parent by his after running for the Plate, in which, although he did not use his teeth so cleverly as he did last year, he presented very much the same good form.

Calabaroono was really as fat as a hog. His running improved wonderfully in the Purse, and if he could have gone on running himself into condition gradually with one course a day, he might have won it again. He is a slashing dog in his style, and turns well, but he requires to be in tiptop condition. With ordinary luck he is not so dear after all. His running was perfectly true, and we have no doubt of his being a high-class dog. Coodareena, his old kennel companion, ran very sweetly to her game, and at one time we quite thought that she would have won the Cup. The last hare she was slipped to was on heavy, soft ground, where the hares seemed to be as rotten as the land. It was one long pull, neck and neck, with King Tom till they came to a ditch, when the hare, leaning from her to the left, her opponent seized it, and she was out. If it had turned to the right, in all probability the course would have been "the little blue girl's." Mr. Campbell bore it like a Stoic, although it was quite certain that they had no right to slip cup dogs on such ground, especially when the good hares had all left it. Meg, the winner, never struck us very decidedly till near the end. She was not trained as People esteem training, but had just run anywhere about at home; in fact, nearly up to the time they did not intend her for the cup at all. She is small, lengthy, wide, and square, and goes low and level from the slips, with very perfect, easy action. To look at, she fairly swims along, and you see no motion. No greyhound at the meeting ran Over more ground, independently of the very long course, in which she killed on her own account after "the undecided decider." The slip in this course was long, and both went well away on good ground, Meg clearly having the pace, and making a very good turn. Her opPonent then cut in, and killed gallantly; but the hat came off, and

very properly so, especially at the close of such a Cup. The last course was probably the severest of the three days, Meg, to the astonishment of every one, showing the speed throughout, turning wickedly, and throwing herself across ditches desperately, then wheeling instantly on the hare's line, and making a noble finish. No greyhound could have shown more elasticity and courage, and well she deserved her honours, although she did so disloyally stop a second King from being sovereign of the field. She piloted herself magnificently, and fully carried out the old saying that there is " a vast difference between wisdom and cunning." A greyhound who lacks the former can never get through a 64-dog cup.

Glendower ran as well as he ever did, but owing to his lack of length he has hardly the pace and scope for this country. Donald astonished us in his first course with King Death, but was rather lubberly afterwards. But for faltering at one or two ditches, he would never have given King Death a chance. Clasper ran close and well, but he rather wants reach, and is not quite equal to the fame he brought with him. We liked Annabella's running amazingly, and she went in a fine airy style, as if she had the wings of a hawk. Jem Mace was there, looking on at his namesake, and must have felt sore that he didn't come out valiantly like himself in his last round. Johnnie Cope quite supported his reputation in his first course, and was put out unluckily. The hare had to cross a road and two ditches, and when they reached her it was difficult to say which killed. The people were a good deal dissatisfied, as they awarded the kill nem. diss. to Johnnie. Reveller the Second is a dog of very great promise and undeniable style. The trio which pleased us most were the three bitches, Meg, Annabella, and Coodareena. As regards style and running, nothing went faster than Meg, nothing showier than Annabella, nothing sweeter than Coodareena. Owing to the state of the ground after frost, the prevailing feeling was that bitches would have the best chance, and that the dogs would throw themselves away upon the ground which the frost had not left. We have seen the hares better; and on the second day, near the river, where they were driven from fallow, it was more like rabbit coursing, as they were either killed at once or smeused. The decisions generally were very good, but the one with Scots Grey, who was generally thought to have won the course four times over," disgusted Mr. Steel so much that he sold his dogs. Even Beale, the trainer of the winner, seemed ashamed to take up his fawn. Scots Grey went badly, and fairly crouched out of the slips, owing to an injury on the previous day, and thus missed the first turn; but he warmed to his work, became master of himself, and did all that was necessary at the finish: he ran very strong to cover, giving the bitch "a right on end go-bye" in the last stretch. The attendance was as large as we remember, and very orderly, and there was capital betting at the ordinaries.

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