A FOREST RUN WITH "THE 

 QUEEN'S." 



I STOOD upon the course at mid-day; the clock was 

 striking the hour of noon as I wended my way over 

 Ascot Heathy in order to visit " Frank Goodall " and 

 the Royal staghounds. Now^ there are three things 

 that exercise a most depressing influence on my 

 spirits. A theatre,, when seen by daylight j a drink- 

 ing fountain, with the water cut off; and a race- 

 course, after the meeting is over. 



Pausing for a moment in front of the Grand Stand, 

 now shorn of all its accessories, I see a mere collection 

 of bare scaffold poles and empty benches ; the lights 

 are shed, the garlands dead, and all its charms de- 

 parted ; whilst memory recalls that unlucky invest- 

 ment on " Atalanta/^ when the wincing jade failing to 

 pull off a dead certainty, I dropped my money like a 

 man. It was there that the yellow barouche was 

 drawn up on the memorable Cup-day when I first 

 beheld — but in an instant these melancholy retrospec- 

 tions are put to flight, and a change comes o'er the 

 spirit of my dream, as I listen to the sounds so fami- 

 liar to my ear. " Tallyho ! '' '' Tallyho ! " " Gone 

 away, lads. Gone away ! '' and I see Mr. Garth^s 

 hounds streaming across the heath in full cry after a 

 cub, which they are rattling along at a merry pace, 

 in the heat and dust of a lovely October morn. 



