having slain four tigers within half a mile of the town, three of which were killed within two hundred yards of each other in a small piece of jungle not half so thick as many coverts we had often passed through when shooting small game; in fact, so much was this the case throughout, that it was a rule not to take out a gun until every part of the jungle near our halting ground had been explored, a precantion to secure sport much more necessary than is generally supposed.

On the 6th we killed a fine panther on the Dergeh hill with two shots; he ran but a few paces and fell dead, lucky enough, for we otherwise never should have seen him again, the hill abounding with caverns; and on the 7th a bear and two cubs.

Found on the 8th at Kokurmoonda, and were hard at work till near sunset in vain endeavours to entice a tiger out of thick bushes and grass on the edge of a perfect cliff some 50 feet high overlooking the Taptee: the grass was burnt and the tiger heard sneezing, but he had already had one ball in him, and had no wish to try a second. As he would not stir, and it was impossible for us to get at him, we were forced to give over and make the best of our way back to Nundoorbar in the dark, getting safe in, which, considering the stumps, stones, holes, and ruts in a country road, none of which could be distinguished, was not bad work. Driving does well enough by day; but as our ways are not macadamized, is not the thing for night.

From Kokurmoonda we proceeded to Runnala, where we had been promised a man-eater and cub, but found on our arrival she had not been heard of for 15 days.We pursued We pursued our journey to Dosaneh, where we dispatched a fine tigress in a most villainous country-nothing indeed could beat it in difficult ascents, descents, stones, rocks, and thickness of cover, but the ground we tried the next day, where a fine tiger had been found and surrounded by the Bheels, but no elephant in the world could have got in without a regiment of pioneers in front. Finding all attempts to get at him fruitless, we threw down stones from above and fired balls into the thickets without number; but he saw the advantage of his position, and did not even favour us with a growl, so we took the advice of our Bheel to go home. "Do you really suppose" (said he) "that he is fool enough to leave shade, water, and a comfortable den, to come out to eat your

balls ?"

Moved on the 15th to Zeytana, and thence next day to Goredah, where we finished a tigress and cub.

Heavy rain coming down daily, and Moolleir, where five tigers were in waiting, being notoriously a fever country, we came to a determination to shut up shop for this season, and next morning putting my horses in my Nibbs, curricle fashion, reached Dooliah long before dinner time, doing a good forty miles without a change with the greatest possible

ease.

NIMROD IN THE EAST.

Here's a bumper to spur and to

spear,

A bumper to challenge a song, A bumper to those who, where'er the Boar goes,

Are spearing and spurring along! It's good to be steady and cool, It's better to dare than to doubt, It's best to keep clear of the Snobs in the rear,

And be always thrown in, than thrown out.

Then, Hurrah for the spur and the spear!

Hurrah for the zest of my song! Hurrah for all those who, where'er the Boar goes,

Are spearing and spurring along!

Here's a cheer for the charms of -the chase,

A cheer for a glorious burst,
And who wouldn't cheer when

the bold win the spear? For the fearless are always the first.

There are some ever in the right place,

There are some who just toddle and trot;

There are many who love every danger to face,

And many, I swear, who do not! Then, Hurrah for the spur and the spear!

Hurrah for the zest of my song! Hurrah for all those who, where'er the Boar goes,

Are spearing and spurring along!

There's a joy when the Boar makes his rush,

There's a joy when the monster first bleeds,

There's a joy tho' to-day has now g'ided away,

For to-morrow shall double our deeds!

Here's a sigh for the sportsmen afar, A welcome to those who are here, A health to the whole, who in spirit and soul,

Are friends of the spur and the spear.

Then, Hurrah for the spur and the spear!

Hurrah for a jovial song! Hurrah for all those who, where'er the Boar goes,

Are spearing and spurring along! S. Y. S.

SIR,

It has long been a question, both with people who are and people who pretend to be judges of horses, whether any particular point or points be essentially requisite to constitute a galloper, and whether their absence à for

tiori ensures a garran. During the course of my experience on the turf I have heard a variety of opinions expressed, with equal

confidence, regarding the superiority of the straight hind leg to the crooked, of the long to the short cannon-bone, and of loose couples to being well-ribbed up. One sporting character will lavish all his stable-slang in praise of the straight drop and the short shank, while his opponent is as loud and eloquent in eulogizing a goose rump and lengthy lower limb; one man does not look for

to

a broad quarter, provided it is long enough to please him; another decidedly prefers length breadth; a third cares little or nothing for either if the loin be well raised and rounded; a fourth keeps his eye on the angular position of the shoulder and the depth of the brisket and fellers, and one friend of mine could seldom or ever find anything objectionable in a horse except he was "a leetle too straight in the hock," and that one fault damned the animal for ever in his opinion.

Some sporting amateurs place the galloping gift in the play of the fore quarters, and others in the muscular power of the hind; a few fix it in the broad chest and light neck, while one or two, reversing the system of Spurzheim and Gall, give all their attention to the muscles of the buttock, which they denominate "galloping bumps."

Again, when the animal is in motion how seldom do judges agree; some look for short and speedy strokes, some for slow and lengthy striding, numbers for straight and as many for round action.

Now, I care not to lay myself open to a swarm of critics by sporting my own opinion on any of these points, even if such critics should prove as stupid as Stephen, that great and zealous Zoilus of the Oriental Sporting Magazine; besides, my friends have very frequently had the kindness to let me know that I possess very fanciful (a civil word for ridiculous) notions about racers, and apply their fore-finger very mysteriously to the side of their nose when I have hinted that if a horse should show a lengthy quarter, a well lifted loin, a sloping shoulder, light wither, well hooped barrel and decent legs, that he would not be the worst kind of thing to

begin working with, especially if he at the same time exhibited the two grand extremital points, namely, full dark eyes and a broad channel, without which I have never yet seen a real good one. With regard to action, I have always said I prefer a horse to lead with a bent instead of a straight leg, provided he covers (in his stride) the ground to which he stretches; and this I will so far hazard my judgment to pronounce the great secret of the racer's speed.

There is nothing more easy than to descant, and with some show of tact and science too, on the good points of a known flicker, and it is surprising how suddenly a spurt of success will throw out the "galloping gifts" of a "dark horse. I remember when Chapeau de Paille (who, notwithstanding his defeat last season at Bombay, is in my opinion a firstrater) was in training at Mhow under the fictitious name of Bobbery, I heard one of the knowing ones remark, as he galloped past, to the great opponent of his owner, "I say, old boy, there's no go there, I think," which, after the second day's running, was changed into " •That's a tip-topper, by G-d!" But, as I said before, there is no difficulty in discussing the capabilities of a winner nor in detecting the defects of a real bred "bad un;" but will any man, whatever may have been his experience on the turf, pretend to say that he can pronounce any particular horse in the stables to be a racer or a rip? I deny the possibility; for although the animal may be faultless in form, and perfect in his paces, still he may want blood, and blood to be proved must be tried. By the term blood I mean caste; and I am confident without that requisite no horse that ever

came into India can be relied upon as a galloper; whereas, with that. prime essential, the most ungainly looking brutes three-cornered kind of creatures-that the best judges would not look at twice, have turned up trumps; in fact, one of my sporting acquaintance, who has the reputation of being an out-and-out good selector, told me the other day, with a gravity of countenance and a deliberate distinctness of insinuation peculiar to him when discussing that important subject (the points of a horse), that no person would ever be able to select a racer upon certainty until he could invent an instrument with which he might look into his heart!

I (C know that caste' and "make" have each their zealous partisans, and that "blood" is as much the shibboleth of one side as "bone" is the pass-word of the other, the latter taking for their text that a big good one will always beat a little good one; but then I maintain that neither large nor small can be good ones without blood, for I have seen many a horse that in bone and muscle would match with Harlequin or Barefoot, and yet when their race came to a struggle would shut up at the first crack of the whip, while blood and caste would fly to every stroke of the lash and run an honest horse to the ending post, though dead beat a mile from home. As an instance in former times of this sort of regular rip, I would record Grosvenor, and of a trump, Travellerand in modern days I would point out Comus and Buckeen as wanting pluck, and select Don Juan, Tom Thumb, Boxkeeper, and, above all, Emilius, as "bits of good truth." I say nothing of Bundoola, because I do not believe his courage was ever tried: he was beat a waiting race by

Emilius in a half mile rush; but that kind of spurt is not to the purpose, and losing the Malet Stakes when he broke a blood vessel is no proof of wanting caste to carry him a journey of three miles. I regret to find that by the death of the twin foals out of Blaze about a fortnight ago his blood is now extinct.

But to return to my subject. It struck me that it might be curious to ascertain if all the known first-rate winners did or did not possess certain marked points in common, and I have therefore taken the trouble to find this out.

In the accompanying statement you will find the measurement of some of the best horses in this corner of India. I was in hopes of obtaining a few more, but I suppose their owners did not receive my request in time, or I should think they would have complied with it. This comparative statement of proportions may be interesting to those who take as much delight in a good horse as I do, and may also enable the uninitiated to select a Harlequin or a Bundoola, a Chapeau de Paille or a Goblin Grey, by comparing the measurement of the animal they want to buy with that of the model they wish to follow. I send you the outline sketch of Bukshee, who, though like John Dockery with his penmanship, "cruel troubled with the slows," contrived in 1819 to carry off the Honourable Mr. Elphinstone's Gold Cup from nine other maidens toddling with 9st. two miles in 4m. 37s. and 4m. 40s. He was what is now calculated "not fleet, but had great maintaining powers," and certainly at that rate of running he ought to have been timed by an eight-day clock and kept going during the meeting.