spirits of the young enthusiast, now singing snatches of flash songs, now giving a vivid description of Bellingham's execution, now asking after the heroes of the ring, now describing the tiger's supper at Exeter Change, now telling some piquant story of the aristocratic houses in which he had been lionized, now full of some theatrical or other scandal, now extemporizing a couplet to that emperor of pugilism" Jackson the brave," could believe him to be the author of those beautiful lines, which he shortly afterwards gave to the public?

"When from the heart where sorrow sits,

Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye,
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink;
My thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell."

"Now Jackson," continued Byron, "we must have a regular bout today; I must reduce my weight; two hours' sparring, to be followed by a regular Banyan day-tea and dry biscuits

Eh, Jack?"

'Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.'

The master of the art gave a tacit acknowledgment to the proposition, and while preparing the mufflers the pupil continued

My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are as thick and muddled as their dregs. The potations pottle deep of Claret have quite upset me. I brought away three bottles of famous wine last night; besides, I have fed like the dragon of Wantley for the last ten days, and until I can get upon the old régime, a whiting and a pint of Bucellas, I shall neither be able to scribble, spar, nor place a bullet within ten inches of the bull's-eye, my hand shakes like an aspen leaf (and here the poet took off one of the gloves, and showed one of the smallest and whitest hands I ever saw, and which he seemed most particularly proud of). Besides, I'm getting as fat as a second Daniel Lambert

Oh, that this too solid flesh would melt!' Now, shake hands, and let me try the effect of a right and left hander."

Throwing himself into an attitude, the young nobleman showed some scientific sparring, was evidently a sharp hitter, and possessed what the thimble-riggers call " a quick hye and a good hobserwation."

After the first set-to, Byron having ascertained that we were Westminster's, talked most affably to us, described his prowess at Harrow, asked after Bill Gibbons, lauded Tothill Fields and its fair, and ended by offering us tickets for the approaching fète at Vauxhall. We thanked him with all the warmth of schoolboys, and told him we had already received a promise from Lord Yarmouth. We then took our leave, and could talk of nothing but Childe Byron for the next month.

From that period until the present I have ever felt the greatest respect for the ill-fated poet. True he had his faults, and who is without them? Among those who have done justice to his memory may be mentioned the Duchesse d'Abrantes, and there is much truth in the following remarks which I have taken the liberty of translating from excellent French into moderate English, leaving the word méchant to be

Anglicised by my readers-wicked is too strong a term; mischievous and larking too mild:

"He was after all much more human and less demoniac than the world believed him to be. No, I do not believe that Lord Byron was half as bad as they made him out to be; moreover, I think that he was made méchant, but that he was not so by nature.'

Soured by a deformity in his limbs, and neglected by those who ought to have guided his youthful course, he became reckless and indifferent to the world's good opinion; the incense and flattery that were heaped upon him, when, to use one of his own expressions, "he awoke and found himself famous," might have turned a wiser head than his, while the venomous attacks that were oftener levelled against him were calculated to harden him. Poor Byron! with all thy faults, I love thee still. Peace to thy manes!

The evening for the grand fête arrived, and never shall I forget my first visit to the gardens, which, upon the occasion I allude to, was the scene of one of the grandest festivals that ever took place in the royal property. So greatly had the public expectation been excited, that fifteen pounds were offered for a single ticket. It required then a most virtuous resolution upon the part of Kirkonnel and myself to prevent our converting the pieces of pasteboard into a thirty pound note; but respect for the donor, and the "still small voice of conscience" pointing out the truth of the old proverb anent honesty, drove the idea from our minds. But to the fête.

At four o'clock the doors were thrown open, and a most splendid scene presented itself. The whole of the covered buildings, with the addition of a temporary saloon, were converted into dining rooms. The Rotunda

held the table of the late Duke of York, as president. This table was raised on a platform some feet from the ground, so as to be seen through the whole range of the halls; it formed a crescent; two lines of tables were placed down the length of the saloon, and smaller tables occupied the vacant spaces. This temporary room was singularly beautiful; it occupied a large space, interspersed with trees, the branches of which had been made the supports of a canopy of British, Spanish, and Portuguese flags and banners. At five o'clock the military bands in the gardens struck up the " Duke of York's March," and the stewards, who were distinguished from the rest of the company by wearing white ribbons ornamented with laurel leaves, went to receive his Royal Highness. In a few minutes after, he entered, accompanied by the late Dukes of Kent, Sussex, and Gloucester. Dinner was then announced, which, with the exception of that occidental luxury turtle-soup, was entirely cold. When the whole company, which consisted of more than twelve hundred, had taken their seats, the coup d'œil was truly beautiful. The orchestra had been converted into a tent, hung with flags, laurels, and festoons of flowers; the interior was ornamented with massive gold and silver plate, with the bust of Wellington on a pedestal at the summit, and at the foot the baton of Marshal Jourdan, which had been taken in the battle; two trumpeters stood forward from the pile, and between them a grenadier of the Guards held the standard of the 100th French regiment of the line. All the company appeared in military or naval uniform, or full dress, with the exception of two urchins, one of whom the reader will probably recognize as the writer of this, and

who tried to look like young middies, with their blue jackets, white waistcoats and trowsers. The conclusion of the dinner was announced by a flourish of trumpets, when Non nobis Domine! was admirably sung by the professional singers, headed by that present evergreenCharles Taylor. The usual toasts were given, and received with due honours; but when the royal president proposed the health of "Field Marshal the Marquis of Wellington," the assemblage rose at once, and gave nine such hearty cheers, that proved how much they valued the great services and splendid victories of their warrior countryman. The late Duke of Gordon presided in the temporary saloon, and it was my good fortune to be placed near that popular nobleman. Nothing could exceed his good-humour, hilarity, and joyousness: he literally kept the table in a roar by flashes of mirth and merriment. At nine o'clock the ladies began to arrive, but as there were no "police" in those days, and as, "like master, like man," the coachmen had been drinking the health of the hero of the day, there was a considerable delay, and as good a night's work for the coachmakers, by the breakings of poles and panels, as the most voracious of that class could have required; it was nearly eleven o'clock before all the company had been set down, and at that hour the Princess of Wales made her appearance, and was hailed with the loudest greetings. The general effect of the gardens was now magnificent, and gave one the idea of a scene in a fairy tale. The façades of all the buildings and the colonnades were ornamented with variegated lamps, expressing the names of those officers who had distinguished themselves in the Peninsula, and the places where the British arms had been victorious. At the back of the orchestra was a portrait of Wellington receiving from a soldier the baton of the French Marshal. The fineness of the weather, the profuse blaze of lights, the uniforms of the guests, and last, not least, the beauty of our fair countrywomen, all combined, rendered this national fête one of the most brilliant entertainments ever given in England.

Return we to Westminster, where, to adopt a foreign phrase in the absence of so expressive a native one, we pavoneggearsed ourselves not a little at having talked and shaken hands with Byron, and having been present at the fête.

At this period a few of our form started a periodical work for private circulation only, entitled "The Dean's Yard Magazine," and consisting of tales of fiction, narratives founded on facts, poetry, and songs. From this more scarce than valuable production I extract a story, which, bearing upon sporting high life, may not be uninteresting to the reader; as also a song, which we venture to prophesy ere long will be attached to some popular melody, and when warbled by that first-rate singer and actor, Mr. Paul Bedford, will become as great a favourite, and be as much organized as any "Jolly Nose" or "Fake-away" ditty of the day.

THE AERIAL DUELLO.

EXTRACTED FROM THE DEAN'S YARD MAGAZINE, M.S.

A very novel species of duel lately took place in Paris. Monsieur de Granpree and Monsieur Le Pique having quarrelled about Mademoiselle Tirevit, a celebrated opera dancer, who was the chère amie of the former, but who had been discovered

* Since the above was written poor Charles Taylor" has shuffled off this mortal coil." In private life he was greatly esteemed by a large circle of friends.

G G

in an intrigue with the latter, a challenge ensued. Being both men of elevated minds, they agreed to fight in balloons, and in order to give time for their preparation the duel was postponed for a month. On the 3rd of May the parties met in a field adjoining the Tuilleries, where their respective balloons were ready to receive them. Each, attended by a second, ascended his car, loaded with blunderbusses, as pistols could not be expected to be efficient in their probably distant situations. [What a pity Warner's long range had not then been invented, as it would have been a glorious trial for it!] But to proceed, A great multitude attended, hearing of the balloons, but little dreaming of their purpose. The Parisians merely looked for the novelty of a balloon-race. At nine o'clock the cords were cut, and the aërial machines ascended majestically, amidst the shouts of the spectators. The wind was moderate, blowing from the N.N.W., and they kept as far as could be judged about eighty yards of each other. When they had mounted to the height of about 900 yards M. le Pique fired his piece ineffectually; almost immediately after, the fire was returned by M. Granpree, and penetrated his adversary's balloon, the consequence of which was its rapid descent, and M. le Pique and his second were both dashed to pieces on a house top, over which the balloon fell. The victorious Granpree then mounted aloft in the grandest style, and descended safely with his second about seven leagues from the spot of ascension.

The song (whether original or otherwise we know not) was entitled READY RHINO; OR, THE FACE OF OUR KING IS THE PICTURE FOR

ME!

No man I e'er knew,

Turk, Christian, or Jew,

The rhino to touch was not willing;

But when I may take

My choice as to make,

With guineas my purse I'm for filling!
For of all the good-looking old pictures I see,
The face of our king is the picture for me!

The French Louis-d'or

No, that is no more

Clipped close by a counterfeit scraper ;
And though livres big sound,
They're but ten-pence a pound,

And never are seen but on paper.
The pistole of Spain

Is mere flash in the pan,

Their dollars Jack Tar kindly cozens;

Search the continent down,

You'll not find an old crown,

But new ones and brass ones by dozens !

Louis, livres,

Florin, stivers,
Great doubloon,

Ducatoon,
Grand Ecu,
Little sous,
Piatole,
Mark-pistole,
All are ninnies

To old guineas;

For of all the good-looking old pictures I see,

The face of our king is the picture for me.

How prophetic have the lines proved

"Search the continent down,

You'll not find an old Crown."

But our limits are exceeded; we must postpone our further adventures

until next month.

423

BEAR-SHOOTING.

BY H. LLOYD.

Though bears, when on foot, are at times to be killed with facility, at others, from the unfavourable state of the snow, the weather, and other causes, the difficulties experienced in destroying them are, as will be seen in the following pages, occasionally very considerable.

A few winters ago, when paying a flying visit to Wermeland, and when unable to obtain intelligence of a ringed bear, we were necessitated to beat the forest at hap-hazard, in the hope of rousing one ourselves.

I speak in the plural number, my old chasseur, Elg, being with me at the time.

For our operations, we selected the tract of forest to the southward of Risäter, that bounded on the east by the Lakes Ràda, Lid, and Gräs, and on the west by the river Clara, where several were known to harbour.

Here the bears had, for the past year or two, done great mischief, so much, indeed, that Mr. Falk had been induced, during the preceding summer, to have a skall on a very large scale for their destruction; but, from the badness of the weather, and the consequent impossibility of keeping the people in order, it proved a total failure. We took up our quarters, in the first instance, at an uninhabited hut, three or four miles to the north-eastward of Munkforss-an iron forge belonging to the Uddeholm Company, situated on the Clara. It was in the wilds of the forest, immediately at the northern extremity of a fine sheet of water, called the Skärgan--and had been erected by a former proprietor of the estate just mentioned as a fishing cottage, to which purpose, as was evidenced by the nets and angling implements hanging around the walls, it was still devoted in the summer season.

As there was a fire-place and fuel in abundance, and as we had plenty of provision and some bedding, we here made ourselves extremely comfortable.

In this quiet and secluded retreat we remained for several days, in which while the surrounding forest was searched far and wide for a bear. The first two days we were quite alone; on the others we were aided by thirty or forty men, kindly sent by Mr. Falk to our

assistance.

But all our efforts to get one of those animals on foot were unavailing, which was partly attributable to the snow being loose and deep; for though Elg and myself, who were on skidor, got on well enough, the people, who in general were not even provided with scarbogar, could hardly in places wade through it, and in consequence * A poor kind of snow-shoe.