his desperate occupation would be rendered useless? This being the case, he who sends the greatest quantity of game into the market best carries out the intention of the Legislature, and so far does his duty as a good citizen. And as "man must have food, and is entitled to make the lower creation supply him," we perfectly agree with Mrs. Glasse, that 'tis necessary to have these creatures in our possession before we can convert them to our own purposes. Now it so happens that some of the lower creation have wings as well as legs, and will not come to be killed" as Mrs. Bond's ducks were wont do when charmed by her musical chanting of "Dilly, Dilly, Dilly." But possibly "the Gentleman" may still be under the harmless delusion that salt applied to the tails is the most approved method of bird-catching? If so, those who shoot them must stand convicted of prejudice, at least in his opinion, because we will venture to assert that not one of those who use a gun ever tried the more simple recipe.

"These

But now we must parry the grand thrust made at us. battues, these daily baggings as they are called"-Pray by whom? mais n'importe !" of one hundred or two hundred head of animals at a time, we cannot but consider as cruel, absurd, and indefensible. To attempt to grapple with all that this "Gentleman" may hold as absurd and indefensible would be too Quixotic for our taste; but the term "cruel," being sent point blank at us, is definite and straight-forward, and upon which we join issue, and unhesitatingly pitch our caster into the ring. It appears from the passage above quoted, that it is the great numbers killed at one time that constituted the cruelty. "The Gentleman" talks of one or two hundred in a day-(we plead guilty to having during this season been one of a party at a battue where more than twice that number were slain, but it was previous to the 7th of January, and therefore had not the fear of this champion of humanity before our eyes):—well, we will take him at his own round numbers of two hundred, and humbly submit that unless he is prepared to prove that the last bird or beast of the two hundred that falls feels one hundred and ninety-nine times more pain than the first, the case falls to the ground. Had "the Gentleman" favored us with his ne plus ultra of a day's shooting, the exact point at which sport must stop, and beyond which cruelty begins, we might possibly have been puzzled to find how Leadenhall and the other London markets would be supplied, so that game might be had at a fair price, and how the poacher might be driven out of the business. And as to his opinion, that game "might nearly as well be shot at in a cage," any poulterer will convince him of his error; because, supposing the cage to be a wooden one, the animals therein slaughtered would be full of splinters; and as to cages of iron and brass, they are far too expensive for country gentlemen of the present day to indulge in.

But our friend, being one of the Gilpin order, might be "in merry mood," and positively laughing at us therefore it behoves us for a while to be serious, and once more to seize this bull-cruelty-by the horns. In battue shooting, nineteen shots out of every twenty may be rated as being under thirty yards: the guns which gentlemen of the present day make use of hit very hard, and the bird or beast so knocked over, if not quite dead, is quickly in the hands of those who know how VOL. I.-THIRD SERIES, N. S.-No. 4.

L 1

to administer the coup de grace instanter; and as for "the numbers" which, in the pathetic words of "the Gentleman," are "only wounded, and escape to linger under the tortures of their wounds, or, unable to find food, die in agonies and famine," he may have the soothing consolation offered from every-day experience, that so well do gamekeepers know their business, and to such perfection are retrievers now trained, that not two head out of one hundred wounded escape their vigilance for twenty-four hours, and not one in one thousand suffers the horrors which his raw-head-and-bloody-bones-imagination has conjured up. But "man must have food," and just at this season game is out and lamb is in. Does "the Gentleman" ever luxuriate upon a leg or a chop cut from one of those types of innocence that he must have heard from first-rate authority always

"Licks the hand just raised to shed its blood ?"

or does he reflect, when rejoicing in ox-tail soup, that the late wearer of those glutinous tapering vertebræ, rolling and almost hissing over his palate, possibly received two or three ugly consecutive thumps on the skull from a pole-axe previous to his having his throat cut? As a winding up, did he ever eat crimped skate or cod? If so, in proportion as we admire his theory do we condemn his practice. But to proceed.

After assuring us that he desires not to use any affected appeals on the subject, he discourses on the anatomical mechanism of the forms, the habits, instincts, and pleasures of the birds and beasteses in language worthy of the days of Pidcock and redolent of the long pole and sawdust, and then pours the full tide of his "Lament" thus: "Why should all this purpose be counteracted in a moment, simply for the object of occupying the time of some clownish Squire, or infinitely yawning man of rank?" As to the clownish Squires (not happening in the present day to know any), we must leave them to the tender mercies of this severe censor; but as far as regards the infinitely yawning man of rank (to use a sporting phrase), we will back at long odds anything emanating from "the Gentleman's pen upon Field Sports to induce the malady with which he has saddled the man of rank, much quicker and in a tenfold degree stronger than four hours spent in the worst day's battueing ever experienced since it became the fashion.

But ira furor brevis est; and "the Gentleman" begins to relent a little. Philanthropy peeps forth at last, if only to shew us that he is not after all quite such a savage as he at first made us believe. He tells us, "we have a Society for Preventing Cruelty to Donkeys, and why not try its influence on men of £10,000 or £30,000 a-year, who, from want of something rational to do, leave no record of their time to their country but that they slaughtered so many head of game?" Now this is both liberal and humane; for, from the numberless personal favors he has deserved and undoubtedly received from the said Society, no one can be so fully competen. to speak to its utility: but since, in spite of all, he does not appear to be exactly the sort of person country gentlemen would wish to imitate, in their name we will venture to reject the proferred assistance of himself and patrons, and at the same time laugh at the silly presumption that induced him to offer it.

The paragraph closes with a description of German battueing, and

there can be no reason for believing that it is not quite equal in spirit and correctness to that given of our own. Lazy and stupid Nimrods" are the terms applied to the Sportsman, and with an exquisite bit of morality of his own weaving, he brings our castigation to an end.

And now a few words at parting. If "the Gentleman" has now or ever should have the opportunity of inquiring amongst or witnessing that class of Her Majesty's lieges which hitherto appear to have been to him a sealed volume, he will be sure to find that the country gentlemen of thirty, or ten, or one thousand a-year in the present day are neither the lazy nor useless beings his ignorance has painted them: and that until much stronger arguments shall be brought to bear against their sports than any he has yet made use of, they will continue to amuse themselves (in the few hours of relaxation from parliamentary, magisterial, and an hundred other duties unknown to the dwellers in Cockaine) in modes most agreeable to their own choice, leaving all such writers, and "the Gentleman" in particular, to the full and unenvied enjoyment of his own more genial pleasures, albeit they are comprised in a free admission to the "Pit of the Surrey," or the more quiet and innocent enjoyment of a pipe and pot in the classic arbors of Bagnigge Wells. RINGWOOD.

P. S. Different styles of Shooting and Shots in our next.

JOURNAL OF SPORT IN THE WEST.

FEBRUARY.

The less said, the soonest mended;
The less said, the soonest ended:

So we will make short work of this short month.

Friday 3.-Mr. Bulteel's hounds.-Met at Ivy-bridge; rather cold it was this morning, and no doubt of it.-Unkennelled in Stoford wood, and had an angel's visit, a delightful forty-eight minutes of sport, a run of choice, a brilliant run. Away he went, a clipping whopper, through the inclosures to Rut brake, then over the moor, the West Beacon on the left, passed Hangershill rock on the left side, and on to Pyles by Sharp tor; would not go into the donjon, that stronghold of Pyles, but ran past it, and back again through the inclosures of Lower Pyles, over the moor, Bullevend on the right, to the Western Beacon, where he got in among the rocks. The pace up to the full stop was tip-top; Mr. C. Trelawny and Mr. C. Bulteel led the way.

Tuesday, 7.-Met at Meavy. Advenit acris hyems, advenit et glacies. A very sharp frost this morning, which, with a very cold. East wind, made it look very like "winter's come at last."-Unkennelled in North wood, and after a round or two in Deerstone, and a long check upon Whigford down, occasioned, as usual, by the vehement

scholars of Diana, who will not learn anything but how to ride as hard as Pluto did when he rapt Proserpine. Owing to this interruption of the beaks, alias horse-tamers, the fox got into one of the back slums of Alsatia-no, among the rocky holds of Cadworthy wood-where he was safe.-The second fox, from Knoll wood, near Tolchmoor gate, went over Reddon to Rook wood, then turned back through Knoll wood, Lee wood, over Shaugh moor, crossed the river Plym into Deerstone, and earthed in the big holts on Whigford down. Very few were well up during this run, albeit the authorities tallied the fox twice.

Friday, 10.-Met at Goodamoor; the weather was cold, with frost and snow upon the moor hills.-Found in the little furzen (Mr. Praed's) above Naphill wood; went away to Cholwich town, and ran rings about Cholwich town, Park land, Rook wood, Newparks, at a good pace for an hour: a long check; hit it into Lee wood, scurried round the wood, went away to Blackalder tor, back into Lee wood, among all the horsemen ; afterwards it was much cold work, which ended, some say, in death, at all events in something very, very cold. Tuesday, 14.-Met at Harford-bridge; weather a very sharp frost, wind Easterly, and very dry:

The birds were singing very fiue

To welcome thee, Saint Valentine.

In truth, those fine melodious fellows, the blackbird and thrush, were singing merrily when I rode forth from home in the morning.-Unkennelled three foxes in Skeriton wood; went away anything but railroad pace to Kings wood, whence we snailed toward Henbury wood, and then got away as fast as we could to our shells.

Friday, 17.-The fixture was Plym-bridge; but the frost was so severe, that "I warn the hounds baint gaing out the day."

Tuesday, 21.-Lyneham kennel; a pleasant sort of day, the snow and frost trickling away, but the scent did not sarve.-First fox went away from Lyneham warren, and we walked, sometimes cantered, after him through Hareston, Sherford, Radford, to Plymstock, where the fox and the scent left.-Second fox, from Wembury wood; the hounds could not even make a walk after thicker. There was rain at night, so I suppose that was the reason there was so small an allowance of scent sarved out during the day, a day of fasting, but not a fast day.

Friday, 24.-Met at Plym-bridge; a cold East wind.

Why, Maister Willy, you blows 'pon your nails,

All through your thick worsted gloves :

'Tis a day for threshers with holly flails,
But not for lovers and doves:

So a hunting we will go.-Unkennelled in Shaugh wood; went away joyfully over the furzens outside; crossed the valley to Cann wood; crossed the fields to Fernhill wood, Newnham Park, Hookspray, Crownhill down; headed back into Hookspray, through Portaver, crossed the fields and the road into Heathdown plantation, on to the Forty-foot-ride, where the very vehement horse-tamers crossed the

scent, headed the hounds, which occasioned a fatal check: afterwards the hunting was as cold as the weather, through Shaugh wood, Hen wood, and Fancy, where the scent had a fancy to stop the hounds, ergo our fun. Afterwards drew many coverts, but did not uncover a fox.-Up to the Forty-foot-ride, our run was a fast run through woodland fastnesses, and men and horses, at least the former animals, as far as the pleasure of it went I ween, were in a pleasant perspiration. After the check, there was a check to that pleasing sudor; I hope the Gentlemen did not catch cold: as for the fox, they did not catch him.

Tuesday, 28.-Met at Delamore, where there was breakfast enough upon the hospitable board to break the fast of arrah a Union in Great Britain; and to make the feast more delicious, it was served out to us fox-hunters by ladies fair. The weather was cold and dry. A fox cut and run from or near Harrathorn plantation; the hounds soon got on the scent, and made fast play with it through Dendalls, Hawns, Highhouse, over Penmoor, through Cholwich town, over Reddon, into Knoll wood, Torycomb wood (a check): hit it into Lee wood, broke over Dennis walls, to Wutter pits; headed back into Lee wood, ran over Blackalder tor, through Knoll wood, Cholwich town, over Penmoor, through High-house, Hawns, Dendalls, into Harrathorn plantation, and on to Stalldon moor, where the hounds divided, and the boys wot rides with them followed the multitude to do evil, whilst a few couples of the old hounds stuck to the right scent; but they were alone in their glory, and very likely they killed, as they were near their fox and going it pretty fairish. The multitude halted, but not one of them could find out whether the old hounds had tired the fox or tired themselves.

Now as we are "a' nid nid nodding," I wish you good night, and am yours faithfully, BRUNCHEVAL,

LIVERPOOL GRAND NATIONAL STEEPLE-CHASE.

THE entry for this "grand event" included a string of horses never congregated together in the palmiest days of Steeple-chasing. Lottery, Peter Simple, The Returned, and Consul, were of themselves sufficient to draw a host of admirers of the sport; but when to these were added numerous other horses "well known to fame," the large concourse of spectators assembled on Aintree course was not to be wondered at. The cards of the day presented on one side the names of the horses with the colors of their riders, and on the other a map of the country, with the fences, artificial hurdles, walls, lanes, and brooks to be encountered, which varied but little from the previous occasions. One of the most formidable was a strong post-and-rail fence, of considerable height, placed before an awful-looking yawner just before arriving at Becher's Brook, which was strongly objected to by some jockeys, who felt pretty certain that if they once got in they would