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PORTRAITS OF GALATEA (A BROOD MARE), AND MAZEPPA.

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GALATEA.

OUR first decoration for this Number is engraved by WOODMAN, from a picture by MARSHALL, Sen.-the subject, portraits of the son of Mr. YOUNG, late of Epsom, GALATEA (the dam of Acis), and a Colt Foal by Middleton. The tale attempted to be told we are sure will be understood, not only by our numerous readers in England, but by our extensive connexions in every part of the globe.

GALATEA, a brown mare, foaled in 1816, bred by the Earl of Fitzwilliam, was got by Amadis out

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"The snow-wreath is vanished from side of the mountain,
The storm-flood no longer discolours the fountain:
The icicle clings not from roof, tree, and bower,

For Spring it is come, with its sunshine and shower.

The chains which the Winter-king forged, they are vanished;
The blights and the blasts which he blew, they are banished;
The streamlet is loosened, and floweth on clear;

For April is come with its smile and its tear."

HUNTING, Mr. EDITOR, after ber on their benches ad libitum, and

many glorious struggles, is fairly run to earth; and, as every event ful death in the Sporting World claims a notice in your respectable Magazine, why should not that first and chief recreation of Britain's foggy isle-that glory of all good men and true-be entitled to a like honour! No one who ever figured in your pages, I ain fain to believe, could be more sincerely lamented than this same Hunting, which expired, after a brilliant career of six months, of sun and green leaves. Hounds and horses, foxes and hares, will, probably, not so deeply regret the exit of this celebrated amusement; for truth obliges me to confess, that to the two latter it was a most determined enemy: worrying them from their holes and corners, and running them up hill and down dale in rather an unmerciful manner. Now, they may repose in peace-sly reynard no longer fearing an excursion to his poulterers, or the hare a friendly visit to her next door neighbour. Hounds, too, may slum

hunters nod in their stalls to their hearts' content. All is well with these. But who shall tell the feelings of the Hunter, who consigns his muchloved and much-stained bit of scarlet to the oblivious recesses of a wardrobe, knowing too well that six long months must pass ere the joys, of which it is the emblem, will be tasted again.

Adieu! Adieu!—my scarlet coat

Fades in the closet's gloom;
The blackbird tunes his little throat,
And purple violets bloom.
Yon coach that travels up to Town,
We follow in its flight;
Farewell awhile to sport and thee,
My scarlet coat, good night!!

Shade of the immortal Byron, canst thou pardon this parody? Hunting, however, thank God! is immortal. Let us therefore await with patience, and hold ourselves in readiness for that trump which will sound its glorious resurrection; and in the mean time recal the memory of the dear departed, by a recapitula

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tion of its virtues, and the scenes in which it figured.

But, before I commence so important a subject, suppose I dismiss Shooting, which also went to its long account in February last, and was a sport of too much consequence to be passed over in silence. Great hopes were entertained by the gunner last season that a plentiful harvest of game would reward him for the scarcity of former ones: and in Augustthat delicious month of the year, which, combining the charms both of summer and autumn, woos one by its loveliness to abandon the hot and dusty streets of London and seek the sylvan shades-the extensive preparations among Forsythes, Goldings, John Mantons, pointers, setters, &c., told that the blissful period had arrived when the bird of the heather must no longer rejoice in her liberty, or the muir and the mountain in their solitude. But disappointment is the lot of man and here it was verified, for all was "flat, stale, and unprofitable:" grouse were at a discount: there was, in fact, a most plentiful scarcity; and those who had travelled many hundred miles to prove it so, had no resource but to make the best of a bad bargain, and confess the truth of that scriptural proverb which "Man is born to trouble as the says, sparks fly upwards." Now, on the first blush of the business, this was certainly provoking, nay damnable; but it was an evil which could not be cured, and therefore must be endured: besides, thought the young ones, this is but the beginning of the season: September will soon be here, and then see if we won't play Hell and Tommy among the partridges.

Then, companions, your goblets this moment be filling, High, high to the cause we will shield: The trigger-its might here grim Care shall find killing,

As the birds shall anon in the field: Now, three cheers, ere we part, the blithe day to remember,

The trigger, my lads, and the First of September."

But-(that nasty word sounds ominous)-time passed on, and reapers were busy in the field, and the golden

grain was housed, and the first day of that month of promise for which many an anxious heart panted, dawned, and lo!......but of this anon. Anxious hearts panting in anticipation of a day's shooting, may appear rather strong, but is nevertheless true. Every man has his hobby horse, and, when he gets on it, is generally an enthusiast.

Fishing to some is a tame and senseless amusement; yet who more ardently devoted to it than that prince of the rod and line, good old Izaak Walton! and I can remember the time, when the night which ushered in the eventful first of September was a busy night with me. Maids almost cursed the noisy fiend who dispelled their quiet slumbers at four o'clock in the morning; and for himself to close an eye was out of the question. Often, when on the point of forgetting the world, has Somnus been put to flight by a sudden recollection of some part of the morrow's paraphernalia not being quite up to the mark or in its proper place, and a knot made in the handkerchief touching its remedy. In fact, I don't know that in all my wanderings since that young and happy time, I have ever been so tormented with the spirit of restlessness; nor do I wish it: for what charm has the most luxurious couch, or softest down, unless blessed by sleep!

"Aspettare e non venire,

Stare à letto e non dormire,
Ben servire e non gradire,
Son tre cose de morire."

Well, I still must think the not sleeping the worst of the three, for it is easy enough to cut an acquaintance who makes you expect him in vain ; and as to gratitude, who'd be fool enough to expect that?

But, hark back, GILBERT, to your story......And lo! partidges, too, were found wanting. In some counties not a full covey was sprung, or a day's sport had, that could be considered as a brilliant one. This was almost too bad to be endured, seeing we had drawn so largely on the bank of Expectation-(a bank by the bye which

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