covered a top which should shortly bestride "Old Boots" (the fifteen pound hack from Charley Simmond's), and ride merrily in the wake of the Heythrop; that the voice, so mild, so articulate, in the responses, might possibly-with a short preface, depreciatory of the visual organs -request some freshman "either to get along, or go back to his Latin Grammar." Well, such was my friend II. The congeniality of our tastes, and his kindness, induced him to give me carte blanche of his house during the moor season of the summer of '47. I had acquired tolerable celebrity as a game shot, and, I believe, was not unknown at the Red House; but never had I seen a grouse, save in a poulterer's shop, and the moors were to me a" tale of romaunt." I jumped into that social Pandaemonium of this iron age, called a railway; a charming day bringing its concomitant, a pleasant journey. Having travelled all night, next morning brought us along the banks of the Tyne, of glorious memory in coal and Claspers; and save the yelping of dogs, who "bode their time," partially quelled by the very unintelligible chiding of Northumbrian gamekeepers, my journey was as peaceable as might be. One occurrence, however, rather amused me. We were bowling merrily on between Newcastle and Carlisle, when suddenly the train stopped; Death's head and cross-bones flashed vividly across me-a Southron, habituated to the "half-minute" time of the Great Western and the "sic volo, sic jubeo" of the Rail King. My mind was, however, partially relieved when I heard the engineer quietly ask, "Hoo much for yon fish?" A sixpence too much being demanded, we again got under weigh, when the repentant fishmonger held up the object of litigation— "Ye shall hae him." The steam was shut off, the fish bought, and I fairly inferred that, had shrimps been strewed on the road, our engineer, with a special eye to sauce, would have succumbed to temptation-a too facile Atalanta! Having changed the train for a conveyance supplied by the inn, which courtesy might term a gig, but which bore forcible analogy to the tumbrels of our Druid forefathers, which same was occupied by a horse, who, had he been fat the night before, must have been troubled in his dreams, I soon arrived at my journey's end. H—— himself had not returned from fishing; and whilst discussing one of the hecatombic breakfasts of the hospitable "north countrie," my eyes drew in a lively gratification from sundry coops of pheasants, who were questing on the lawn for the unwary worm. Some of the birds had so far attained to adolescence as to squeeze with some difficulty through the bars of their habitations; whilst others had so fully fallen victims to plethora, that stern necessity compelled them to gaze with filial affection on their deputed stepmother, whose cluck seemed fraught with the Cumaan warning * * facilis descensus Averni Sed revocare pedem * * * Hoc opus, hic labor est!" The armoury, each gun bearing the well-known nomenclature of "Sam. Nock," was the next object of my attention; quite comme il faut !-the locks working in beautiful oily music, and everything correct, clean, and well-appointed. The next view which came welcome to my eyes was "ipsissimus" H, like the leaning-tower of Pisa, rather out of the perpendicular, from an exuberantly loaded creel; his white hat-a famous antidote to the midges which "spread their wings on the blast" like an unsatisfied plague of Egypt-girt with a castingline, the flies being of his own manufacture-Bowness's "particular” in one hand, and shortly afterwards my "fin" in the other. A With our morning cigar-a practice, I am ashamed to say, to which we had both got rather habituated at " Alma Mater"—we visited the dogkennel; a capital dry, brick building, with a large paved court, and a constantly fresh supply of water-as pure as Pindar's idol, and from which Flaccus self might have turned to his " glassy Blandusia” with disgust-was bubbling up from a small fount in the centre. whistle soon induced five brace of noble setters to jump up, and, after stretching into shape with a yawn, to display the full pride of canine Northumbria-clean legs, bellies well tucked up, no superfluous fat, but showing condition and breeding, such as might argue well for our morrow's sport. The old keeper, who was quite a character, in spite of my friend H- (who, learned in lore of Moore, Byron, and Scott, would fain have adopted newer and more classically chosen appellations), retained the old and prescriptive names of Dash, Joe, &c., with patriarchal obstinacy. On the night of the 11th, we rode our ponies to the shooting box, close to the scene of action, over the moors; a sort of sheep-track, guiding us, the Northumbrian shepherd's calling it by courtesy a road. After a quiet rubber at whist, in which H- and myself in vain tried our University education against the skill of the two shepherds of the farm (they are all capital players), and in consequence were relieved of many sixpences, we went to bed. The next morning, "early" was the word; and after breakfast we turned out with two of the noble dogs I had augered so well from the day before. Our first "find" I shall never forget. We had just descended a little gully, a flock of sheep occupying the farther bank, when down dropped one dog as if his legs had been shot from under him; No. 2 followed suit-bang! bang! from Hand down came a bird in answer to each barrel. I unfortunately could not fire; had I done so, the fate of the bell-wether, the spes gregis, would have been sealed, standing as he did on the opposite bank, with about duelling distance between us. The perfection of those dogs in steadiness might have surpassed Colonel Hawker's most vivid imagination. They dropped like stones, immovable as the "Marpesia Cautes.' Half-minute time being allowed, we moved on, and a heavy bag (so said the game keeper) was the result before luncheon-time. Hares there were in abundance; but our steady animals merely cast a glance at them, licking their lips, and spake more plainly than writing can express what "education" could do. A long day's work furnished a hecatomb of presents for country friends; the monotony of the sport (if so it could be called) being frequently relieved by squibbing at the snipe, which darted about in abundance. The black game stood gallantly on the distant craigs; their wildness seeming to denote that nothing but good generalship could deprive them of immortality, as they strutted about, the admiration of their seraglio. Night brought us a good appetite, and the shepherd's wife a good dinner-the work of our own hands. Many were the palmy days I had spent on the Essex marshes, frequent the tempora subseciva I had passed in the turnip fields of Norfolk; but, oh! how totally was their brightness eclipsed by the magnificent superiority of the Cheviot moors! Knights of Cockayne, apply well your multiplication table to all that Virgil ever wrote of Elysium, to all that Fennimore Cooper quoted of "happy hunting fields," and your mental product will be- a moor! After dinner appeared the old keeper, who from long service and grey hairs had acquired the prescriptive right of a glass of "toddy" with master. "Come, John," said H——, “ floor your lush' and tell us one of the old stories." The old man pleaded no "omnibus hoc vitium cantoribus," but lighted his pipe, scratched his head, and began the "GAMEKEEPER'S STORY," which, should my readers look with indulgence on the present letter, shall be modestly submitted to their eyes in a future number, by their loving friend AUTOPTES. B. N. C. THE STEEPLE CHASE. PLATE II.-"Now THEY'RE OFF." ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY J. F. HERRING, SEN. "Each seems to say, 'Come, let us try our speed;' BLOOMFIELD. "The Mighty Hunter," in summing up one of his great characters, finished off with this high compliment, that he was a man "who did everything well;" an "upon the whole," that might put him in tolerably strong contradistinction to the common acceptation of a gentleman, who it would appear can do nothing well. Old Johnson, in his usually agreeable manner, declared some man wrote very wellfor a gentleman. A farm-bailiff, the other day, showing us a most beautifully selected herd of short-horns, owned, in answer to our enquiry, that his master was a very good judge-for a gentleman. Critics will tell us that at the amateur performance, Mr. So-and-so, or Lord Sucha-one, played Charles Surface, or Sir George Airy, very well-for a gentleman. Even in our own line, where a gentleman is declared to be nothing and nobody without his recreations, he still plays but second fiddle at them. A gentleman huntsman, nine times in ten, is taken but as another term for a bad one; and a gentleman jockey generally unites the two on much the same understanding. At most he may reach in this sphere the acmè allowed by Mr. Scrope Davies, who, in speaking of a friend's great efforts to carry out the character in every particular, admitted "he did look and ride like a jockey, but then it was like a bad jockey." B B |