fails so often, I wonder it ever gets credit); but experience teaches us we have much to endure in this envious and ever-changing world-"whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth."-" The just man is tormented in his body: but his soul, like an impregnable fortress, remains tranquil and serene, while all without is ruin and desolation. The wicked man, on the contrary, reclined on his purple couch amidst flowers and perfumes, seems to enjoy the peaceful calm of the soul; but the enemy works within, and a thousand appearances, which no art can disguise, betray the secret anguish of the man who seems so happy."

Now, considering the fair promises held out so late as July touching the existence of game, this scarcity was astonishing, for at that time Norfolk and Suffolk, the muirs of Scotland, and the mountains of Wales, all promised a most abundant supply; and quite at the beginning of the month grouse pouts were observed running about in large broods, and looking healthy and vigorous. Grouse, to be sure, have a great deal to contend with-more, perhaps, than any other sort of game. If whilst in the shell they escape destruction, they have a dreadful enemy in the sheep-dog, who thinks nothing of making a breakfast off them: and then the poachers make sad havoc in the beginning of August, before the regular sportsmen arrive: so that, upon the whole, the existence of a grouse is not at all an enviable

one.

For the partridges, I think, the summer was too hot and dry; for the young broods require, like flowers, refreshing rains to make them strong on the wing: besides which, much damage is done in hay and reaping time-it is so impossible to teach those who are in no way interested to be careful: but in future, pray, "Gentle swains, If chance should lead you to the chosen spot

Where the shy partridge forms her simple

nest,

The embryo offspring spare; and when your scythe

Levels the grassy valleys, should your foot
Approach the helpless brood, step back
with care,
Nor our fond hopes destroy."

However, "Nil desperandum!" should be the sportsman's motto; and as the past winter was extremely mild, and the spring warm, and free from heavy rains, we have every reason to hope the next season will be more favorable.

How merciful was that All-wise Creator, who, in sending us into a world so full of care and sorrow, forgot not to bless us with the light of Hope! Of all our high attributes, there is none affords us such comfort and happiness as this, rain as it often is. Without it, how many would "curse God and die?" With it, there is no state of existence too wretched to be borne, no load of misery too great to be assuaged. Hope is the first best gift of the Deityforemost in offering consolation, the last to desert us; deprived of it we should be lost, both here and hereafter.

"How lovely

Hope which Fancy

Once more I quote the elegant Chateaubriand, who thus apostrophises Fancy:

"Farewell thou, who hast been my consolation through life, thou who hast participated in my pleasures! but, alas! more frequently in my sorrows! I cannot separate myself from you without a sigh-for when I was but yet an enthusiastic youth, you urged me to traverse the seas, and cheered me amidst the tempest that shivered sail: my you accompanied and taught me to find, amidst the some into the savage's cabin of bark, litudes of America, the inspiring groves of Pindus.”

fatal to all the geese in the country: Now came Michaelmas-day, a time and then that month dear to the gunner (October), which for once realised its promises, and atoned, by its plenty, for the scarcity of the grouse and partridge. Indeed I do not know when there has been a better season for pheasants-a circumstance which I attribute to their being more preserved from the severity of the weather and the attacks of the poacher ́ (who is not always daring enough to ventu re so near a mansion as where

they usually domesticate) than the partridge.

This month brings joy to the hunter, by the preparations requisite for commencing the ensuing campaign with vigour. All is bustle and animation: much is to be done both in the stable and the kennel; and every sportsman pleases himself with the hope that this will be his brilliant

season.

Now the young hounds are led forth to have a trial of skill with the cub gentry, which by the bye I do not approve of, thinking it better they should be preserved till age has given them strength and ability to do the trick well. As a sort of practice for young hounds, I own they are of use; but I always think, if the blood of such hounds is pure, there is little fear, when mixed with old and staunch performers, but they will soon know their duty. Another objection I have to cub-hunting is, that, the ground not being seasoned or firm, the horse feels it so terribly in getting over the heavy besides the turnings and twistings up and down the woods take more out of him than a much longer straight-away business. To the rider it is also pretty ticklish work, from the blindness of the fences, from which the leaves have not entirely fallen. Last season many of the packs commenced the war in the month of October (and earned laurels), which, though rather hasty, we cannot wonder at, when we consider the long holiday the hunter is obliged to take.

November, generally the best scenting month in the year, especially if some frost has preceded it to fix the ground and pluck the withered leaf from its tottering height, may be said to usher in this noble diversion in all its glory and never, probably, could the annals of the Chase boast of higher deeds, or a greater number of packs, than last year rose in terrible array against the varmint.

Melton, Aristocratic Melton, centre and abode of haut ton and good fellowship, the queen of hunting establishments, the "observed of all

observers," under the management of that excellent sportsman Sir Harry Goodricke (who hunted all through the season six days out of the seven), shone conspicuously. In one thing the sportsmen of Melton have set an excellent example to all the fraternitythat of making the place agreeable to the Ladies, who now go down as regularly as their Lords; and add by their presence a grace and a charm which was the only thing wanting to Melton to make it perfect; and I have no doubt those fair creatures look forward to the hunting season with as much delight as some do to a season at Brighton.

Your Correspondent MILES gives an animated description of a day at Melton, and the Ladies. "During the night (he says) there had been a frost, which made it late before the hounds came up from their kennel, which is at a place called Six Hills, some distance from Melton: but there was full amusement for an hour in observing the beautiful horses and women which crowded the streets and windows. The former were literally crammed with the number of grooms walking the horses about, and groups of men in red coats were collected at each corner: others were seen walking about, arm in arm, with Ladies, while every moment a britscha full of lovely women would dash in from the neighbourhood. It had all the appearance of a country town on a race day."

Never indeed did the famed county of Leicester, even in the glorious days of the immortal Meynell, shew a richer muster of rank and courage than that which last year followed the fortunes of the brave Sir Harry. The Pytchley, with the Squire as commander; the Burton, with that prime sportsman Sir Richard Sutton; the Oakley, under the experienced eye of Mr. Grantley Berkeley; the Hambledon, guided by one who knows how to do the thing (Mr. King); the Raby, Grafton, Fitzwilliam, cum multis aliis"-all seemed determined to fight bravely. Foxes were plenty; and although the

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runs were not in all cases severe, they were frequently of the brilliant order, and proved the bellows of the nags pretty considerably.

Suffolk, under the auspices of Mr. Mure (and his aid-de-camp Will Rose), again lays claim to the title of a hunting country, having been roused from its long slumber by that Gentleman, who conducts his menage (at his sole expense) in a style not to be outdone, except for local advantages, even by the Meltonians; and some brilliant runs he had for his reward.

The lovers of the trigger met with fresh disappointment this month in their search for woodcocks, which throughout the season were very scarce, owing I suppose to the mildness of the atmosphere. This delicious bird, I am sorry to find, grows scarcer every season in England, which to the gunner and the epicure is really a serious affair.

December, that month sacred to hospitality-that month which ought to be, and once was, dear to every heart in England, from its youthful associations, its own sublime recollections, was last year an eventful one, though in a far different way. Discord, pestilence, famine, and all the evils of Pandora's box were let loose upon this devoted country, and made Christmas a scene of misery and crime, instead of hospitality and joy. I trust that brighter scenes await us!

The weather this month was favorable to the hunter:-no frost yet to gem the trees and shrubs with its glittering diamonds, or draw the pearly drop from the red nose:—no hope for the skaiter to sport his elegant and airy pirouettes before the admiring eyes of fair damsels: none for poor reynard, who, malgrè bon grè, must foot it over the country at his hardest. Some splendid runs took place in consequence in many parts of England, and found honorable mention in your pages. Sir Harry Goodricke had some particularly brilliant days in December, doing the trick completely after Will Shak speare's receipt―

"If 'twere done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly.”

But, good Lord, could the Nimrods of past days lift their heads from their graves, and see their lazy sons travelling to the fixture in a carriage and four, and the ten or fifteen minutes burst across the smooth and level country afterwards, how would they rub their optics, and talk of what hunting was in their days! Well, the world certainly is running on at a curious pace. Hills and forests are giving way to steam coaches and rail roads, and I don't absolutely despair of shaking hands with the man in the moon before I die.

In this month Mr. Osbaldeston's grand undertaking supplied the world with some conversation. It was declared, after all, a very easy feat; but everything seems easy to those who don't try it.

Now came Christmas, with its emblems, mince-pies and misletoe-all that are left of the good old customs of our forefathers. I call them good, because anything which tends to excite innocent mirth and impart happiness must be good; and I cannot but regret that excessive refinement which has substituted the cold and meretricious amusements of modern society for the genuine warmth and hospitality of olden times. One by one our national customs are fading away; foreign improvements and foreign vices usurp their places: and say, is England happier, wiser, more prosperous?

February ushered in Sir John Frost, bringing ennui to man, but pleasing rest to his assistants. Hunting for a time was taking a nap, and no help was left but in the sparkling glass to drink to its speedy revival. Diana heard our prayer, and granted it; and immediately the wind changed, the sky grew dark, and rain descended to unlock the frozen earth. The scent was now more brilliant than ever, and pug much refreshed by his holiday.

To horse!" was the word; and once more the hills and vales echoed