insensible to our nerves, yet is its effect too quickly discernible upon hounds. The change is so transient, that even the barometer does not own it. Somerville's account of scent is good for its philosophy, but useless to the practical man. He supposes scent to depend upon the air alone. The passage is as follows:

"Should some more curious sportsman here inquire
Whence this sagacity? this wondrous power
Of tracing, step by step, or man or brute ?
What guide invisible points out their way

O'er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain?
The courteous muse shall the dark cause reveal.
The blood that from the heart incessant rolls
In many a crimson tide, then here and there
In smaller rills disparted, as it flows
Propelled, the serous particles evade

Through th' open pores, and with the ambient air
Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise,
And hang upon the gently-purling brook,
There by th' incumbent atmosphere compressed:
The panting chase grows warmer as he flies,
And through the net-work of the skin perspires;
Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which, by
The cooler air condensed, remains, unless
By some rude storm dispersed, or rarefied
By the meridian sun's intenser heat.
To every shrub the warm effluvia cling,
Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.
With nostrils opening wide, o'er hill, o'er dale,
The vig'rous hounds pursue; with every breath
Inhale the grateful steam. Quick pleasures sting
Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,
And in triumphant melody confess

The titillating joy. Thus on the air

Depend the hunter's hopes.'

Beckford, who, like a good hound, never threw his tongue in vain, tells us that "it is very difficult to ascertain what scent exactly is. I have known it," he says, "alter very often in the same day. I believe, however, it depends chiefly on two things-the condition the ground is in, and the temperature of the air, both of which, I apprehend, should be moist, without being wet."

As it is not the object of this paper to enter into all the characteristics of scent, the bold reader is recommended, for further enlightenment, to apply to Letter No. IX. of Peter Beckford, Esq., where he will find the subject minutely and artistically discussed. I have just been told by an old fox-hunter that man wants but three things to make him thoroughly happy -" health, money, and scent." Nimrod loved not Devonshire as a hunting country, and he spared it not with his pen. In reference to it, he says, "Over the mountains and over the moors' is a pretty commencement to a love-song; but it is a sorry recommendation to a hunting country." With all due deference to our sylvan Herodotus, I will venture to affirm that the world cannot produce more brilliant or wilder runs than may be seen over the broad moors of Devon. On the 10th of November of this season, I had the good fortune to see the Tiverton hounds kill a brace of foxes. The first stood before them thirty-five minutes, over the open moor, "without a mark, without a bound;" No. 2 raked up

from the ling, and was killed in twenty-eight minutes. There was not a fence within miles, nor a yard of ground to throw a horse out of his stride throughout. I do not adduce this day's unquestionable sport as an exception to establish the rule; for many such days have been and are to be seen with the Tiverton, Mr. Trelawny's, or the North Devon hounds.

For variety of sport few countries can compare with Devon. The red deer is found in the forest in its wild and native pride; the covers contain a fox whenever he is wanted; and every stream owns an otter; the black-cock rattles from the heather; and the woodcock feeds in the glade.

Professor Wilson has immortalized himself by his address to a wild deer. It commences thus:

"Magnificent creature! so stately and bright!
In the pride of thy spirit pursuing thy flight!
For what hath the child of the desert to dread,
Wafting up his own mountains that far-beaming head!
Or borne like a whirlwind down on the vale!

Hail! King of the wild and the beautiful! Hail!

Hail! Idol divine! whom nature hath borne

O'er a hundred hill-tops since the mists of the morn!

Whom the pilgrim, lone wandering on mountain and moor,

As the vision glides by him, may blameless adore!

For the joy of the happy, the strength of the free,

Are spread in a garment of glory o'er thee.
Up! Up to yon cliff! like a king to his throne!
O'er the black silent forest piled lofty and lone-
A throne which the eagle is glad to resign

Unto footsteps so fleet and so fearless as thine!"

The noble sport of stag-hunting, which in years gone by was attended with so much pomp and display, is now followed in so business-like a manner, that it cannot but be admired by every "houndsman." The stag-hound of former days was an animal of little ambition, compared with the blood now in use. When he got upon the line of scent, he stuck to it like a stoat; and though twenty couple were a-head of him, would throw his tongue, at the tail, with as much satisfaction as though he were leading the pack or viewing his game. An endless string of hounds, carrying neither head nor impetus, marked the line of the deer, and gave a tameness to the sport utterly at variance with our wild and impassioned notions of the chase. But the system has improved: the deer has now a dash of the devil at his heels-the English fox-hound. Ten couple abreast, "like horses of the sun," now riot in his rear; and though the stoutest hound will have it, yet are all up to fill the vacancy, should he diverge a yard from the line. At the same time, if any hounds get thrown, so strong is the scent, so marked the line, that they are not let in by the leading hounds' sweeping and catching at the scent, as they would be if a fox were before them instead of a deer. This, indeed, is an objection but justly urged when the two sports are compared. But there is another feature which distinguishes this pastime from fox-hunting-the "taking soyle." Here some judgment is required by the huntsman. The animal now displays all the craft of which his instinct is capable. As soon as he is pressed, and his legs begin to fail him, he takes advantage of the first

water he gains-sca, 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.

66

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 proeeeding 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.'

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," 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