Mawworms; for nowhere does cant whine shudder more abominably. "Many," says Paul Riccher, "think themselves to be truly God-fearing when they call this world a valley of tears; but I believe they would be more so if they called it a happy valley. God is more pleased with those who think everything is right in the world than those who think nothing right. With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?" If the Doncaster saints do not thus treat that which the Eternal saw with pleasure, and declared "that it was good," at least they neglect no device for turning the sunshine of the spirit into cloud and darkness. I am not judging the good or evil which may come of such assemblies as a race-course gathers together; it is neither my office, nor, perhaps, within compass of my philosophy. But I do not hesitate to pass sentence on the taste which desecrates the word of God, and dallies meretriciously with the sacred texts of scripture, for the purposes of ascetic fanaticism and pharasaical vain-glory. There is a time for all things-to be merry as well as to be wise-if the twain may not operate in unison. Very surely it is neither to the honour of God nor the promotion of a healthy veneration for religion that the "voices in trees" should rant out anathemas against all who dress the face in smiles; or that the stones should pour forth sermons

"Sadder than owl sings or the midnight blast."

Virtue and piety are the sun and dew of the moral world; hypocrisy "the arrow that flieth by night;" fanaticism "the pestilence that killeth in the noon day."

THE CLANDON HARRIERS.

ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY T. BROUGHTON.

The following able key to Mr. Broughton's exceedingly clever and life-like picture having been kindly forwarded by a gentleman in the neighbourhood, we hasten to offer it in elucidation of the print.

The Clandon harriers were established by their noble owner, the Earl of Onslow, then Lord Cranley, of Clandon Park, Surrey, in the year 1800. The hounds selected were from the best blood in the east of Sussex, as the following names fully justify-namely: Harrison Carrs, Beddingham; Mr. Augers, Eastbourne; Mr. Ellman, Glynde; and the Brookside harriers. With the hounds, their late huntsman, James Imms (whose portrait occupies the centre of the print), was transplanted from the Sussex downs to the Surrey hills. From the first formation of the pack to the present period, his lordship has ever bestowed the greatest attention on the improvement of the hounds, sparing neither time, trouble, nor expense. Wherever there was a superior hound, whose breeding was known to be right, care was always taken either to secure him or to procure a cross. The result of this extraordinary attention, it will readily be supposed, was the production of a perfect animal, both as regards beauty of form and

hunting qualities. With these qualities, however, his lordship was not content: he determined to carry the excellence of the pack further, and therefore made a rule that every hound must have tancoloured head and ears. This combination of excellence and elegance might have satisfied the most fastidious; but not so the noble owner, for the "music of the pack" was quite as much an object of care with Lord Onslow as the shape, size, and uniform colour of the hounds. Such, indeed, was the delicacy of his lordship's ear, that he immediately detected the note of discord; and the hound failing in this particular, however good his qualities in other respects, was immediately condemned. The cry of the pack is, in consequence, music itself; and to describe the effect produced the first time it falls on the ear is impossible. It can be compared to nothing so happily as a well-attuned ring of joyful bells, full of life and mirth, without a single jar to mar the melody. The harmony of a pack of hounds, if ever attempted, has, we believe, never before been accomplished, and is a taste which could be gratified only by a person having an ample purse and liberal hand, as the voice of the hound will change with his years. Often would Imms, when a favourite hound or known good one had failed in his note, plead his age in extenuation, and feelingly beg for his retention in the pack; but so inexorable was his lordship's rule, that in no instance was the prayer successful. The old huntsman, presuming on his standing, would sometimes venture to disobey orders, taking especial care, however, not to have the condemned hound with the pack when his lordship was in the field; but this availed nothing: sooner or later, the note of discord was sounded in the kennel-cry; and then the imperative mandate went forth, and Imms was reluctantly obliged to succumb, and part with his favourite.

The pack are good hunters, and have the reputation of being the fastest harriers in England, and certainly in beauty of form and colour cannot be surpassed. They are a large hound, are well eared, and have plenty of tongue, a great desideratum in a pack of harriers; whilst their bodies have a very strong resemblance to that of the foxhound. The last cross of any great extent was from the Reigate pack, in 1840. They have also been crossed with the blood of Thomas Meagre, Esquire, of Pitt Place, near Croydon. Last year his lordship presented Prince Albert with seven couples of hounds, towards the formation of his Royal Highness's pack.

The country these hounds principally hunt is the beautiful Surrey hills immediately round Guildford, where the hares are remarkably strong. The consequence is, they always have good sport; and towards the latter part of the season some very extraordinary runs, which both for pace and distance might claim a higher rank than is generally allowed the "pottering" of the harrier. Many are the tales told in the neighbourhood, of the shifts resorted to by poor puss to avoid her staunch pursuers, such as taking refuge in drawing-rooms, and on one occasion, a few years since, secreting herself underneath the folds of the cook's dress, in the kitchen of Loseley House.

The late huntsman of the pack, James Imms, was born at Ringmer, near Lewes, Sussex, and was initiated into the art and mystery of his calling by the late Mr. Ellman, of Glynde, well known as the

great improver of the Southdown sheep, and who was also as thorough a sportsman as "e'er followed a hound." It may be said that Imms was a born sportsman. When a mere lad he played truant from school, and established himself in Mr. Ellman's service, where he had been several weeks before his friends discovered the lost and truant boy. If the change from the downs of Sussex to the hills of Surrey conduced to the improvement of the hounds, it is equally certain it was not prejudicial to their huntsman, who lived to the good old age of seventy-six, without being absent, it is believed, from the meet a single day, either from accident or illness. His increasing attention to details the most minute, and his judicious kennel-management, materially assisted his lordship in bringing the hounds to their present state of perfection. In the field, Imms had his own peculiar notions about hunting. One golden rule, however, he never departed from-to let the hounds do their own work. Though possessed of a fine voice, Imms was very sparing with the "holloa;" and it an unfortunate wight, in the excitement of the moment, ventured to indulge in a cheer, he was speedily checked, and it was not uncommon for him to remark, "I wish, sir, you would not make that noise; the hounds must know their business better than you can do." Notwithstanding his great age, he would not give up "the management." The ruling passion could not have been stronger in Tom Moody than in Imms; for within a few days of his death he was at his post, and was never known to go better. But his race was nearly run: he was taken ill, and, as he continued to get worse, he was induced by the entreaty of his family and friends to admit the doctor. His lordship's medical attendant, therefore, visited him, and no doubt did all that skill could devise to afford his patient relief. The pill and draught were duly compounded and sent, and with much entreaty, and after many grimaces, swallowed; but not obtaining the promised relief, Imms lost all patience, and, in a menacing attitude, thus addressed the doctor on his next visit: "Well, here you are again-now mind, I'll give you but one more chance." That chance the doctor never had, death within a few hours having terminated the old man's earthly career, to the great regret of his lordship and all who knew him.

The proportions of his favourite mare (by Libertine, out of a Welsh mare), portrayed in the print, were those of a dray-horse in miniature, little indicating the qualities of the hunter. There was, however, a character about her head, and in that never-failing organ, the eye, which plainly told of rare qualities. She was remarkably good in her paces, as docile as a lamb, and as stout as steel, the longest and severest run being never too long or severe for her. On the day of the old man's funeral she was destroyed, by his lordship's directions, and buried in the "old hunter's croft" attached to the kennel, which is situate in a beautiful valley on the Merrow downs, close to the course of the once-celebrated Guildford races-a most picturesque spot, and well deserving the attention of the painter.

The hounds are now cleverly hunted by Thomas Imms, a worthy scion of the old huntsman, and who for twenty years was whip to his father.