water he gains-sea, lake, or river. The last affords him best chance of escape; for with the running stream all traces of him disappear, and he has the sagacity to wade or swim down the bed of the river, mid-stream, carefully avoiding all contact with the overhanging bushes, until he reaches some still, dark pool. There, sinking himself up to the nostrils, and concealing even his antlers below the surface, he will tarry till the huntsman has exhausted his casts and patience, or some crafty old hound has marked his retreat.

But I must now refer to my journal containing last week's bill of fare, and a little variety:

MONDAY, April 3rd.-The North Devon Hounds, at Simon's Bath, in the heart of the moor. Found a brace of foxes on Driverd. Six couple of hounds went away with one of them, and could not be stopped before they reached Farley Brake. The other division ran their fox to Duredon, and killed him in the open. Time, one hour and six minutes.

TUESDAY, 4th.-The Devon and Somerset stag-hounds, at Brendon. Found at once under Scob Hill. A hind and three-year-old stag broke over the moor together, and put their heads straight for the beacon. The stag stood one hour best pace over the open, and was run into. Three couple of hounds now parted, and got upon the hind; but, by a judicious lift, the body of the pack was thrown in, and she was taken in forty-five minutes.

THURSDAY, 6th.-The North Devon Hounds, at Woodbarrow. Before reaching Woodbarrow, the pack flourished their sterns, and were all alive, old Ardent just throwing his tongue (by the bye, the only hound that speaks on drag), and springing forward, as much as to say "I am going to find," put every one on the qui vive. Two minutes more, and the pack, winding him, waved like a flock of plovers: then, with a rush and a crash, away they went at him as he raked up on the open and in view. For the first five minutes he went straight up-wind; but the pace soon convinced him that the down-wind dodge must be resorted to, and making a turn at right angles, the pack flashed over the line. "Hold hard an instant!" as they make their cast. "Say not a word!" Lightning swings round on the line, drops her stern, and away for twenty minutes more they go, reaching the Tinnerley earths, where he found safety in his castle-keep.

FRIDAY, 7th.-The Devon and Somerset stag-hounds, again at Brendon. Threw the hounds into cover, and found a barren hind. Broke across the vale, and turning to the right, pointed for Badgworthy; over Oare Common, like a flash of lightning, to Exford, where she took soil and was lost. Time, one hour and twenty minutes; distance, at least fifteen miles; a rattling good run. Found hind No. 2. She went away for the sea near Linton, swam a long way out, returned, and shot up the cliffs with the pack on her haunches. On attaining the very summit-about three hundred feet high-she reeled, fell back, and was "dashed to pieces." Luckily, but one hound fell with her; and he was but slightly injured.

"The moral of my tale is this:
Variety's the soul of bliss."

G.

A MAY MORNING.

ENGRAVED BY J. WESTLEY, FROM A PAINTING BY W. KIDD.

"A May morning "-a fishing scene-a grouping of woods and waters-how eminently suggestive of calm, quiet, unobtrusive enjoyment! How naturally the pastime comes to the season! how well Piscator befits the place our artist fixed him in

"As he was out walking one morning in May !"

Not the least recommendation of the angler is that unobtrusive character we have just alluded to. Most sports have, more or less, a certain kind of swagger and consequence appertaining to their practice, that forces all other sorts of business and pursuits to bow and bend before them. To say their partisans occasionally inconvenience the neighbourhoods they frequent would be no great libel after all, even if proceeding from such a quarter as it now does. 'John," says the careful yeoman to his bailiff-" John, My Lord, I see, is coming to-morrow, to draw the gorse clumps; so you had better not let the cows out after milking, and tell Isaac to keep the ewes penned up, too. You may as well have the old mare in while you are about it, and set Jack to look over the 'taters, or cut chaff, or something or other, to keep him out of the way till they are gone.

66

Our friend the farmer, may-be, has very good reason for all this-the last time perhaps My Lord" was at the clumps, the field got very nicely in for a line of gates, in which line they were well backed by a score of Devons, found pounded eight-and-forty hours afterwards in the next parish but three. Or the old mare, who was out as usual in the forty acres, became over excited at the sight of the hounds, and so slipped as fine a foal to Cotherstone that very night as ever was seen. Or the above named Jack, to whose care was committed the setting all right after they were gone, and who had a kind of holiday in consequence, forgot his responsibility with the "gone away, gone away," and was made out to have struggled on at least two miles beyond the Devons, and eventually run to ground at "the Chequers."

Or take the trigger again-the Right Reverend Mr. Rifle gets a snap shot at a stray bird, through, over, or under the hedge-row, just as the team is turning the headland, blows poor ploughman's hat all to bits, sets" the colt" going like mad, and spoils two pair of tracechains and half a day's work, anyhow. Or, though himself so careless as to disturbing others, the ground to be beat must be disturbed on no consideration; no one must go over it, for if there a covey be driven off, we would hardly answer of the occupier being kept on.

Or

Yet enough enough to show by contrast the smaller virtues of a sport without swagger, a pastime practised without pleasure to one becoming annoyance to another. Set the glass for our friend the farmer again, and if any suffer this time it is the other side. The Devons, to be sure, while Piscator is trying a likely cast once more," may gratify their curiosity by inspecting his basket, or "the lads of the village" follow every movement from getting the depth to fixing the reel with a severity

of attention that to so naturally nervous and retiring a gentleman may be almost oppressing. An acquaintance with his art, however, will lead to no harm, but rather imbue them with a greater love for their own homes, and a better appreciation of the beauties of their own stream. By the time a line is fairly wetted, he and ragged Bob are fast friends, and the young rascal returns at length with a better account, both in spoil and toil, for his May morning's employment, than the fondest of mothers could have dared to hope.

We were going to add a whole list of baits to be tested and fish to be caught in a May morning's work; but, on second thoughts, we will rest content with showing, like a good advocate, our client for the nonce to be the most agreeable, harmless fellow under the sun.

And as a host of witness will speak to the character, we so leave it at once to the jury.

A SCRAP OR TWO ON RODS AND GUNS.

Μὴ κατόκνει μακρὰν υδὸν κορεύεσθαι προς τοὺς
διδάσκει τι χωήσιμον επαγγελλουμένους.

ISOCRATES.

"Lucet, eamus

Quò ducit gula piscemur, venemur; (non) ut olim Gargilius."

HORACE.

With no better incentive than a thirst for novelty and amusement, I took a sporting ramble, several years ago, in the wildest and most uncultivated districts of Lower Brittany, then all but untrodden ground to the wandering children of Albion. Although the trip was not undertaken with a view to following the advice of the eloquent Athenian, it so fell out that I did encounter an accomplished sportsman, in whose society I passed some happy days, and gained much valuable information: and, although my sporting turn-out was less pompous than that of my Roman prototype, it so happened that I did kill game, not purchase and parade it. All I took with me, in the way of sporting implements, dead and alive, were: a brace of doubles-shot and rifle-by Purday; a couple of rods-salmon and single-handed trout-by Kelly and Eaton; an Irish ex-poacher; a Devonshire pony, and a couple-and-a-half of cockers from the same county. Having named the makers of the rods and guns, I need say nothing in praise of them. With regard to the rest, the man marked like a hawk, and was a good gaffer; the horse had the foot of a Genoese mule, followed me over a hedge like a pet greyhound, and stood fire like a lamp-post; the dogs dropped at the shot, loved furze and brambles, and did not chase flax.

In those days the art of angling was unknown in the district I honoured with a preference: even shooters were only to be found in or near the towns more particularly patronized by the English.