ground; and which, judging of my fellow-sportsmen by myself, cannot, I think, fail to interest them should you give it a place in your interesting miscellany.

Remember, I don't profess to give you the Life of William Somervile, Esq. with notes and annotations, and God knows what, interlarded, like a fashionable biography, with copious accounts of every trifling affair of life..............his hour of rising, the quantity he ate, whether he shaved every day or only once a week, &c. &c. No! it will be a rapid sketch, rudely written by a rude sportsman, fit only for a sportsman's library; and as such (if you think the preamble long enough) I commend it to my brethren.

William Somervile drew the

first breath of life in the Manor House of Edstone in the county of Warwick, 1692, and gave up his last within its venerable walls, July the 19th, 1748. In this fine

old mansion his ancestors had resided for centuries, universally esteemed and respected. His father died young, leaving him and a sister to the tender care of their sorrowing mother, a woman of the highest attainments. On reaching his tenth year, our Bard was sent to a school at Stratfordon-Avon, and here, in the birthplace of the divinest Genius that ever honored a country, were nurtured those seeds of Poesy which afterwards bloomed

SO

finely in The Chase. From Stratford he went to that excellent classical Academy, Winchester; where, at the age of eighteen, he obtained a Scholarship, which, with the help of his talents, ultimately obtained for him a Fellowship at New College, Oxford.

During his vacations he resided principally with his mother,

and became enthusiastically fond of field sports. He kept three or four terriers, and with them hunted hare and fox, baited the badger, and, in the summer, "O'er the dark rushy marsh

The sly goose-footed prowler sought." From the time of his quitting College till his death, he resided with his sister at Edstone. Here

he found that leisure and recreation so congenial to his feelings; and he now began to be a sportsman in earnest. Retired from the world, and independent of its caprice, blessed with an affectionate sister, and surrounded by the scenes of Nature, his only cares those of a sportsman, his worst enemy the weather, I can been a happy poet-a character easily imagine Somervile to have too seldom met with; for, take the lives of Poets and Philosophers on an average, it will be found that nine out of ten live in

misery, and die beggars.

Ah! Genius, why art thou born eagle wings clipped, and thy imato be unhappy? Why are thy gination arrested in its flight to Heaven by the base and grovelling calculations of this calculating world? Why must thou pine in solitude, and waste thy youth and health over a farthing Impudence flaunt in broad dayrushlight, when Ignorance and light?

"But 'twas ever thus," and will be to the end of the chapter. Let us, therefore, be thankful our own Poet, our varmint Somervile, escaped those evils to which so many of the fraternity are exposed, and proceed with the memoir.

Here then did he commence

hunting like a gentleman, and

"A different hound for every different chase

Selected with judgment."

The site of his kennel, as will be seen, was well chosen,

"On a little eminence erect," facing the south-east, with a grove of willow, poplar, and elm at the back, to shield it from the north and west winds. The kennel was spacious, with a fine brook babbling through. He kept about twelve couple of beagles, bred chiefly between the small Cotswold harrier and the Southern hound; six couple of fox-hounds, rather rough, and wire-haired; and five couple of otter-hounds, which in the winter season made an addition to the fox-hounds. The country he hunted was chiefly woodland, except that where his beagles were generally thrown off, and every parish, being uninclosed, yielded excellent sport. To the feeding of his hounds, and the management and arrangement of his kennel, he attended himself (it would be well for masters of hounds to follow his example in this particular)-and was assisted by one Hoitt, a boy about twelve years of age, whom he had taken into his service, and who afterwards attained the supreme honour of being huntsman, and lived with him to his death. He conducted the chase himself, leaving a man in the kennel to prepare the food, who was in the capacity of earthstopper. His stud was small, four nags being the greatest number he ever had in the stable ; employing his favorite, Old Ball, three times in the week. Old Ball was a real good English hunter, standing about fifteen hands high, with black legs, short back, high in the shoulders, large barrel, thin head, cropped ears, and a white blaze down the

face.

It is said that Somervile's income was 15001. per annum, but half that sum will be found nearer the mark; he had a comfortable sufficiency, a liberal one for a prudent man......but when was Genius ever provident? Poor Somervile certainly was not; and his inattention to pecuniary matters, combined with his great liberality, unfortunately plunged him into difficulties (though not poverty), and prompted him to take refuge in a temporary Lethe; and that bright imagination and cheerful mind became obscured of a sensual vice. His favorite and overcome by the indulgence drink was toddy-a mixture of rum and black currant jelly, with a very sparing dash of water-an after a hard day's exercise when excellent and healing beverage taken moderately, but in Somervile's case an insinuating poison. His poor huntsman used frequently to observe to Mr. Webb, with much naïveté, "What a pity

but he was every day hunting and being hunted."

Master should be so overcome.......

As a Gentleman and a companion, Somervile was perfect ; as a Magistrate, skilful, upright, and useful; and as a Sportsman, I can only say, all who wish to become really such may (with the exception of the toddy) form them

selves on his model.

"A Sportsman's skill whoever means to claim,

Must read his book, and then he'll know his game."

He followed hounds to the day of his death, and in the very last year had a dinner given him by two hundred gentlemen in honor of the chivalrous deeds he had performed in the field. At this meeting he offered to bet fifty

pounds he would kill his hares, and pick them up too, before any of the young bloods present could accomplish it (provided they would let him hunt the hounds), which was of course assented to, and the veteran, to the discomfiture of many, won the fifty.

It must ever be a subject of regret that so fine a character should so soon have been taken away; for Somervile, though broken in constitution, was far from being an old man when he died.

"Alas! too soon, After so short a time of breath,

To house with darkness and with death!" Somervile's memory has been honored by an elegant Latin epitaph from the classic pen of Dr. Parr, which is too well known to require recapitulation here. It is one of the finest compositions that ever emanated from that able scholar, or indeed any other, and is of itself sufficient to immortalise the name. Hoitt, the huntsman, had a similar honour paid him by a poet of distinction, as a memento of his useful though humble virtues.

The life of Somervile glided on like a peaceful stream; he enjoyed a larger share of happiness than generally falls to the lot of mortals: no evil passions disturbed his repose; he envied no man, injured none; and but for the indulgence of the foible I have mentioned (and which in that day was no discredit to a sportsman), his existence would have been irreproachable. But "there is none perfect, no not one;" and I therefore think we may venture to appropriate to our departed brother those exquisite lines of Metastasio"Ardito spiri, chi puol senza rossore,

In Somervile's Chase we have pure nature and vivid description. If the divine breathings of a Shakspeare, the magnificence of a Byron, or the melody of a Moore be wanting, we have that which will never cloy, and to which we may often turn with pleasure from the contemplation of more dazzling beauties. He was a practical sportsman, and wrote from his own personal knowledge, which is not always the case with those who "make books."

Many a heart-rending tale of moving accidents by flood and field has been given to the world by a man who never migrated five miles beyond the precincts of Cockaigne; full many a perilous voyage on the boisterous ocean, shipwreck on a desert island, &c. been patched up, and drawn tears of pity from lovely eyes, for a writer, whose most dangerous excursion has been a two-hours' trip in a sailing-boat at Brighton. Somervile was none of these: he had seen, and joined in, what he so well pourtrays, and his Poem bears the stamp of real ore, so difficult to be imitated by the ignorant. He is indeed the Sportsman's own Poet; and I cannot do better than conclude his memoir in the words of a Poet:

"Veteran of Sport! whilst we are free,
Thou canst not pass away;
Thy spirit still amidst our glee,

Shall light the sportsman's day :
Within our hearts its pride shall be
Impervious to decay.

"Father of heroes! fare thee well;

The sculpture on thy tomb
Shall fade away 'neath Time's cold spell-
But those we cherish none shall tell
Decay's unsparing doom;

Have ever ceased to bloom."
GILBERT FORESTER.

Dec. 24, 1831.

M m

I

SIR,

Have perceived latterly that you are not unwilling to allow the minor affairs of the gun a share in your Miscellany, and am, therefore, induced to submit to you a plain and unvarnished" description of two days sport which I experienced on Friday and Saturday last, being the conclusion of the season for grouse and black game shooting; and which, from its peculiarity and novelty to me, who have handled arms for two and twenty years successively—and I believe I may say, under submission, successfully-I cannot help thinking may prove of some interest to your readers. There is no doubt that grouse, and even black game shooting, is sufficiently well known, especially to our prime dons (and even the prima donnas who accompany them), who come down here in August to " cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war" against the Poults, and then publish their bulletins exulting in the number of the slain: but the sport I have to describe, and which I shall do as well as my faculties will permit me, "without any extenuation" or attempt at fiction, is as different from what the aborigines here call" pooting"-i.e. massacreing young birds in fine weather-as I should conceive a splitter with the North Devon stag-hounds must be to a winter day's puddling with beagles. I do not mean to decry ANY sport-success to them one and all! -much less do I mean to insinuate that grouse shooting in August is not excellent pastime. Thank Heaven! it is: but it might be almost termed child's

play, comparatively speaking, to the work which I shall without much further circumlocution endeavour to narrate.

as

During a residence of some years in this part of Scotland for the express purpose of shooting (I have formerly, Sir, seen most hounds worthy of note in England), I had been frequently solicited by the head keeper over one of the finest shooting tracts of ground in the world to accompany him, or, in plainer terms, to lend a hand in helping to kill a box or two of black game at the end of the season, which I had as often declined, having been prejudiced against it "dull work," laborious to an extreme, and only fit for poachers or keepers, who could not help it. Being, however, again pressed this year, and being assured by the keeper, who knew I was an indefatigable duck shooter on my own less favored ground, that, excepting red deer, he knew nothing like it for difficulty and excitement, I accepted his offer; and I assure you, Sir, I am only sorry it does not fall to the lot of an abler pen to depict what I shall attempt to describe. As it is impossible, except by the merest accident, to get near these birds without the utmost precaution, a strict attention to the directions or signals of the person who knows the ground, their haunts and habits; availing yourself of the most minute advantages to keep out of sight, no matter at what distance; specially remembering that a chance thrown away is irredeemable; and as a friend of mine, who had not duly digested the instructions

given him by the same leader I was now to serve under (a most respectable individual), had, as the Yankees say, been pretty considerably d-d well blown up by him-it was not (veteran as I am) without somewhat more than ordinary feeling that I prepared to meet the abovementioned personage, at a very extensive moor, about nine miles from my dwelling, before day-break on Friday last. Exciting and pleasing as it was, nevertheless it was, as almost all feelings must be to a man of my standing, tinctured with somewhat of melancholy; for it recalled to my mind's eye those sanguine and sunshiny days,

“When love and life alike were young;" when I could not go to bed until I had all the paraphernalia for the next morning's meet at covert carefully arranged by my own hands; and, when rest was out of the question, listening to every gust that blew, in terror of a bad day. However, to rest I did go, after a few vain sighs and reminiscences, the transitory but affecting tribute we involuntarily pay to past pleasures, and was awakened out of a sound sleep at three o'clock.

Having put everything, even to a pot of coffee simmering on the hob, in its own place before I retired to rest, it was not long before I tasted the morning air, and had the happiness to find that it rained, gently but incessantly. However, having my gun slung in an oil-skin, and myself well put up, I mounted my hack, in the hope that morning's dawn might dissipate the waters; and as the first six miles were upon a turnpike, I made steady play along it, as the last

four lay through the moor, upon a mere cart track, the best part of it close by a brawling mountain stream, with precipitous banks, and where (excepting fishing the stream once) I had never been. After passing a bridge which crossed this tributary on its course to the greater waters, I was aware that a kind of lane, or loan as they term it here, turned off to the moor, leading for about a quarter of a mile through some rough inclosures, but it positively was so dark, that it was not without dismounting and feeling my way that I made good this outlet. My progress was now necessarily reduced to the honour of my naga stout a foot-pace, trusting entirely to Highland cob, but who was quite au fait in such circumstances, having been in his earlier days employed in the laudable office of saving many a goodly cask of "mountain dew" from the inquisitorial rod of the Exciseman; and I proceeded wearily enough along the banks of the roaring torrent until my prad stopped short, and I found he was brought up, as Jack Tar says, by what I imagined was a gate, but which, upon dismounting, I found to be a flight of rails at the end of a high stone dyke or wall, and so marvellously fastened that all my endeavors to let them down proved fruitless.

I had now nothing for it but to remain where I was until day dawned, under a most unrefreshing shower, and was "fervently blessing" all black-faced sheep and the Highland contraptions requisite to restrain them, when the barking of a dog and an almost simultaneous whistle struck myglad. dened ear. This last "sound of