291

"TO BE DELIVERED IMMEDIATELY.”

ENGRAVED BY J. WESTLEY, FROM A PAINTING BY G. ARMFIELD.

We remember some years ago-we'll not say 66 many;" for that would be neither just to ourselves nor correct to the reader-we remember then how, as schoolboys, we used to look for the monthly appearance of the N. S. M. with almost as much earnestness as to the vacation itself in prospective, or the next Saint Somebody due, whose graceship was to sanction us a day with the Oakley. We remember, too, particularly well, on one particular occasion, after scoring up a dozen or so of hexameters full of fine ideas and false quantities, falling pell-mell on a notice of Captain Medwin's "Angler in Wales." It was a dashingly-written de angling et quibudun aliis affair, and even more dashingly reviewed by, as we suspect, about the best sporting critic that ever "cut into" an author. Well, one of the notabilities of the volume is a certain "fair Cambrian" the gallant Captain makes his bow to-a double-dyed Di Vernon, who trains her own race-horses, quotes old Sam Chifney's "Genius Genuine," lands her own salmon, breaks her own setters, &c., &c., &c. She is "discovered," as the scene-shifters say, first of all in the old house at home, all ease, elegance, and full dress-with a rough terrier on the sofa beside her. We are coming to the point at last. In walks the Captain, ready to do the amiable; down jumps the terrier, ready to bite his head off. "Lie down, Pepper!" says the lady to the dog, in a voice of authority; and then to the gentleman, with a sweet smile of welcome, "He won't hurt you, sir it is a fancy of mine to have him about me; for he comes of a good sort, and I like him much, for he's no varmint."

"And here," remarks the most sagacious reviewer, "our gallant author makes a sad mistake; for a varmint terrier is just the thing he should have made his heroine dote upon." Exactly so; for a terrier that is "no varmint" is a good deal like a race-horse without speed, or a prize-fighter without pluck. A real rough-andready varmint terrier, that will face a fox, unpack a hedgehog, kill a cat, and settle a rat with just one twist of the teeth-that's a terrier, if you like; that's the sort the fair Cambrian ought to pet, and we to pourtray. Encore, then, here too our gallant artist has made a great mistake; for his terrier has little of the varmint in the act, however well he may promise it in the look. Mark young Clodpole, how he struts up to his "feyther," with the great grey-whiskered rogue in grain in his hand, and the triumphant Boxer at his heels. "Dang it, I say, feyther!" says he, " my little dog finished this here whopper in the barn, just now, in no time. An't he a good 'un?" Or fancy the unction with which the Etonian details to the helpers how "Bubble" and "Squeak" polished off old Mother Martin's great tom-cat, at the top of the Town Close. Or see Jack Joiner, the carpenter, make the most of a dog after he has done his duty in a go-in

at the badger. All these are more easily imagined than described; but conceive a rough-and-ready Scotch terrier glorying over a rabbit! Suppose a Life-guardsman charging a Trafalgar-square rioter! or a heavy swell going full tilt at a row of sheep-hurdles! There is little call for courage or proper varmint-practice in any such case. Poor bunny is killed as soon as he's caught; and as for catching him, Miss Mary's spaniel, or the half-bred lurcher, would have done it quite as well, or better.

Rabbit-hunting, then, is not the terrier's own game; and though he may be a dab at it, such exploits as that depicted can bring him no great fame or reward. We pass it over this once; but remember, Mr. Westley, next time we shall expect a little more sport for our money. We take our line from the well-graced actor who preceded us, and declare war against the "no-varmint."

THE ALBRIGHTON HOUNDS.

We have much pleasure in inserting the following circular letter, sent to us by a contributor, and addressed to the members of the Albrighton Hunt. These hounds, from the nature of their country, do not pretend to rank as a first-rate pack, yet they frequently afford good sport, and especially during the end of the last and throughout the present seasons, many of their runs having been, as we are informed, most excellent. The origin of these hounds, and the country they hunt, with the names of their various masters, and of the gentlemen who generally hunt with them, are mentioned in an early number of our work under the head of "Shropshire as a hunting country," by "Nimrod." The pack has for many years been kept by subscription, except for some few seasons, when Sir Thos. Boughey both kept and hunted them himself; since then, and up to the present time, they have been under the management of Thos. Holyoake, Esq., with a goodly subscription, for the last three seasons, of £1,650 per annum. It gives us much gratification to learn from the letter before alluded to that a young nobleman, with every means and opportunity of doing so, like Lord Stamford, takes the expense and management upon himself, and one who, as a sportsman, we trust we shall soon see rivalling the late venerable and time-honoured "Old Earl," his grandfather, and more need not be wished; for a more liberal landlord and sportsman never lived, or one more universally esteemed and beloved by every class may the present lord emulate his ancestor, and from all we hear of him as a sportsman and agriculturist this is likely to be the case. We have no doubt whatever his lordship will do justice to his new character as a master of fox-hounds, after the strenuous and successful exertions which have been so long made, and more especially for the last three years, in supporting these hounds during a period when so many other packs have disappeared; nor have we any doubt but that under his lordship's patronage, and with his known zeal, these hounds will soon become a first-rate provincial pack, if the country which they hunt