John and his pals, who had hunted over that country, did know, and went carefully round, John eventually getting the spear, and I the poor consolation of being laughed at and told I was a fool not to know. So he had his revenge on Vivian and me for the Kadir. The final was left to these best of sportsmen and good fellows, the late Lord Chesham (then Compton Cavendish), the late John Watson-where are you going to find their like!—and one other, a light-weight, and a good man all round, Webbe of the Indian Cavalry, on Robin Hood. Compton had won his two heats on his bay waler Fop, 15 hands; John his on Lamplighter, 16 hands; and little Webbe his on a 14-hand racing quality Arab, which had the heels of the other two. I was umpiring that heat, and got the usual pleasant abuse for not letting them go at several pig, but I was determined they should have a good ride, with a fair field and no favour. At last the beaters drove a nice galloping pig out of some nullahs, who streaked away across the open. I let him go nearly out of sight-what language they all used!—before I shouted "Ride!" and we all sat down in earnest; Vivian and I enjoying it, I think, as much as they did. Then a curious thing befell. When within a hundred yards of the pig, Compton was keeping a line straight behind him, whilst a good twenty-five yards on his right was John on his tall waler, with Webbe on his small Arab a few yards on his right again. To this day I cannot under

stand what John could have been thinking of, unless he was riding cunning, waiting for the chance of a jink to the right: as it was, Compton overhauled the pig in a fairly thick crop, about three feet high, and before he could jink speared him. He of course pulled up, showed me the blood, and John and Webbe went on in pursuit. They shortly got into a field of dhal where they lost sight of the pig, and whilst hunting about John went down, and I saw Webbe get away at the far corner. On getting through, I found he was riding a pig gently and cautiously, which, on hearing me coming up behind him, he rushed and speared. Pulling up and seeing it was me, he shouted: "Hurrah! I've won the Cup!" But fearing piggy would escape I went on and quickly killed him. Riding back, I found little Webbe beaming all over. "Hurrah!" he said again, "I've won the Cup!"

"Why," I said, "Compton got the spear five minutes ago," and I had to explain it to him. I shall never forget his face. I was really downright sorry for his disappointment. It appears he was on the off-side of John, and could not see what had happened, and when John fell in the dhal, and he could see no one, thought he had it all to himself. It was a terrible sell for him, poor fellow, but the beauty of it all was, that on examining the pig I had killed, there were only the one mark of Webbe's spear and the one with which I killed him. On the beaters coming up, they drove another one out, which we

just pricked him, and the next second I was past him and rolled the pig over. It was a case of an inch and a second, and it was with difficulty the umpire could detect the sight of blood on the extreme tip of my adversary's spear.

It was no fault of Fop, who carried me brilliantly over very nasty ground after a wretched, little, jinking pig. I was the duffer, as I made sure I had him, and ought to, for I was never hustled. Such is the fortune of sport.

Fop and I followed on from there to Cawnpore, but after winning our first heat we were put out in the second after a bad pig, by Chapman on our old Kadir antagonist, King Koffee, whom he had purchased from John Bullen. Though left three times in the finals Chapman was very unlucky in not securing a cup, as he was a keen pig-sticker and was for many years hon. secretary to the Cawnpore Tent Club, which he managed to the comfort and pleasure of the Club and its visitors. He richly deserved one of those coveted trophies.

The following year the 10th Hussars were in Afghanistan, and the next year I was at home, and did not see the Kadir or Cawnpore again till many years afterwards, though I got some good sport pig-sticking in Bengal and other places. I have at times had a few days at pig over the black cotton soil, with its wide-gaping fissures, also among the cactus hedges, as well as in low rocky hills, where a horse can often hardly keep his legs. All these

are very trying countries to hunt pig in, and not fair on the horses. the horses. Those that I have described are difficult enough. I fancy there are many more falls, comparatively, riding after pig than over a stiff hunting country or steeplechasing-at any rate, I found it so. I eventually found myself in command of the 8th Hussars at Meerut, when I again got some grand sport with pig in that glorious Kadir, though never another cup, nor did I ever again possess two such clinkers at it as Vivian and Fop.

The two regiments with which I served in India-the 10th and 8th Hussars-were very fortunate during their time there, the 10th carrying off the Kadir Cup I have described with Vivian, George Bryan (Buldoo) annexing two others. Cavendish and Bryan each won a Ganges Cup. For the 8th Hussars Clowes, Mahon, and Le Gallais won the Kadir, Mahon the Hog Hunters' Cup also, and Vesey the Muttra Cup.

Both these regiments are back again in India, the 10th Hussars at Rawal Pindi, a nonpig-sticking country; but I am glad to say the sporting element is still strong in the regiment, much fostered by their present C.O., Col. Vaughan, who last year journeyed down to the Forbesganj district of Purneah, in Bengal, with some of his officers and others, making a party of eight spears, with thirty-two horses. They were fortunate in finding a country that had not been hunted for years, and was overrun by pig within a small radius, in fact

too much so. In the twentytwo days in which they were out they killed one hundred and eighty boars. How pleased the villagers must have been! Of the eight men, one was hors de combat four days; another three days, and afterwards could only use his spear in his left hand; and two others seven days each. Of the thirty-two horses, two were killed, five severely and seven slightly out by pig, two broken down, and six stubbed and staked, and only one, Mr Wienholt's Feu-dejoie, went through the twenty. two days without a mishap. There are some who assert that pig-sticking is a tame and onesided sport, and that a pig is mobbed to death by a lot of

spears,

men on horseback with who run no risk themselves and give the pig no chance. The marvellous record I have quoted above should convince these sceptics that the mighty boar is no mean antagonist, and that the hunting of him is attended with some danger to his

pursuers.

The 8th Hussars have only this year arrived at Lucknow. They are a sporting lot, with a sportsman, Col. Deare, at their head, and an old 8th Hussar, General Mahon, who is second to none in soldiering or sport, in command of the Lucknow Division, so I feel sure they also will quickly re-establish the excellent record their predecessors gained in the country.

I trust these little descriptions may give some real idea of the wild boar, and the excitement and pleasure that can be obtained in the pursuit of him; some idea of the different

varieties of ground in which he is hunted; what riding a young galloping pig in the Kadir grass-through which you have, not to ride, but to race him-really means, and also conjure up visions of the old grey boar when he is brought to bay,

"And game to the last, with defiant eye, In silent courage he faces to die."

In pig-sticking many sports are combined-racing, steeplechasing, hunting, and (is it not sport?) fighting-and all Indian sportsmen agree that "The noblest sport in that sporting land Is a boar in front and a spear in hand."

Ah! I wonder how many good sportsmen and good pals,

since

who rode well and true after pig, and helped to swell those choruses with me in years gone by, under those glorious Eastern stars, after a grand day's sport, have gone to their rest Crooky" wrote those inspiring verses of his. Some have fallen at their country's call, some have been taken as an offering to sport, some by ordinary accident, some carried off by fell disease and some through length of days, but one and all, I feel sure, never through their lives forgot the enchantment of those days; and to us, well

"When age has weakened manhood's powers,

And every nerve unbraced, Those scenes of joy will still be ours, And with the friends whom death has On Memory's tablets traced. spared,

When youth's wild course is run, We'll tell of the chases we have shared And the tushes we have won."

T. A. ST QUINTIN.

"Then you must also know," said I, "whether we're going to get in or not?"

The stout man looked up and down the street, twinkling meditatively.

"It's early days to say yet, he said. "Shirley Benn's done well down 'ere these last four years. He's always in the place, any'ow, which is more than Burns is. But I go about, I go about, an' I 'ear 'em talking."

"What do you hear them say?" said I.

"Well, there's a lot of Socialists down this way," said the stout man.

"But they've issued that manifesto," said I, surprised. "So they 'ave," said the stout man. "They've issued a manifesto."

"And they say they aren't going to vote at all," said I.

"So they do," said the stout man, with his benevolent smile. "They say they aren't goin' to vote at all, of course. Where