mud with a mountain stream in the rear, very snugly seated himself under a little shed of palm leaves, which Massa Nigger knocked up for him in a few minutes, and there he sat blazing away as fast as the birds came within his range. I, however, sallied forth sans peur, though not sans reproche, waded through the river, and soon got tolerably swamped, being up to my thighs at every step in the mud; but I was amply repaid for the fatigue, for I may almost say that I kept up an incessant roll of musketry with my double-barrel, and the quantity of widgeon, teal, ringlegged plover, and yellow-legs that I bagged is almost incredible-forty-three brace of the former; seventeen brace of teal; thirty-five plover, besides oxbirds, curlews without number, and without including a great many wounded birds that got away to sea beyond my reach. Being now pretty well satisfied, and feeling immoderate peckish, I discharged both barrels, and slinging my artillery over my shoulders, began my retreat......no easy matter!......the sea had come up in my rear, and had so softened the mud, that after I had taken a dozen paces I looked mighty blue. However, I waded onwards, rather surprised to perceive old Thom, Dashit, and all his gang of Negroes, on the bank of the river making the most violent gestures to me: at last I got within hail, and, Jack! never did human voice sound so dismal in my ears, as when I heard them shouting, "Massa, Massa, get in de boat, de riber come down." The river come down!! Poor little Dumby, who was with me, gave a significant grunt; and with trembling apprehension I looked for the boat but boat was so far off, nearly a mile, the water so shallow, and the mud so soft, that it was as impossible for me to go to the boat, as it was for the boat to come to me. I therefore continued to stretch forward, hoping the river might subside: but when at last, exhausted with fatigue and shaky-very shaky with fear-I got to the bank, oh! Jack, "what a sight was there!" The river, which I had passed in the morning hardly over my ankles, was now swollen to a torrent, roaring down the Banks, and tearing and dashing everything before it. Immense trees were hurried away like a straw ; and the utmost that I could hope for was to wait in the sea up to my middle all night and to pass in the morning: this was my only chance, for my retreat was on all sides impracticable: hope, however, is a varmint thing, which leads us many a wild chase, and deceives us with many a double! In vain the Negroes halloo'd and shouted, each recommending different plans for my rescue: the tide continued to rise, the river to increase, till, making one sudden rush, it violently rose over the Banks, and in a moment swept on all sides into the sea. The thing was now pretty well done, and it was evidently "all Dicky" with me; for I could not expect to stand another five minutes against the torrent, which brought down such quantities of rubbish as threatened every instant to sweep me away to my fate: when, miserabile visu!-down, like the preserving genius of life, came tripping Louisa, little expecting I tree, which by most extraordinary to find her unworthy lover in the jaws of a thirsty death! She made a sudden stop! such an attitude of agonized confusion as would make a house" roar again with admiration; and, unlike her sex, neither shrieked, nor wept, nor fainted, but with the prompt presence of mind which petticoats sometimes inclose within their magic folds, she dashed down the Bank, and placing with inconceivable celerity the Negroes at different distances with their separate ropes, she flew back and .....beckoned.....speak she could not! and how could I have heard so soft a voice midst the roaring torrent! But I twigged; and, twisting up my pluck to the screwing point, I waded on...... one-two-three paces, and then the stream fairly swept me off my legs, and drove me down the current, and round and round like a feather in a whirlwind! The first Negro threw his ropeit fell behind me: the second flung his-it did not reach me: they all flung, and when all failed, even the last, then the awful silence which they had kept was broken by one wild shriek ; Louisa fell in her brother's arms; and I, Jack, began in good earnest to think of my long account." It was all over: the party drew together, and watched me still struggling with the inveterate current: no hope was I tumbled in, and dreamt of left: and had I not been born to happiness, which, unless I get be hanged, I should now have swamped again in mountainbeen travelling the deep in a streams, I hope to realise before thousand fishes' bellies! But when you can again hear from me. I passed the last turn of the river, Thine, dear Jack, out of sight of my horror-stricken friends, within a hundred yards of the Bank where the river bursts N.B. Poor little Dumby tried into the sea-I was suddenly to follow me, but he was swept brought up by a large silk-cotton away, and never heard of more! VOL. VII.-SECOND SERIES.-No. 39. BOB NAUGHT-IN-DANGER. K k SIR, A SUFFOLK STREET GALLERY. opinion of a most excellent judge, I forward them to you, trusting they may be acceptable to the readers of your entertaining and impartial Miscellany. June 10, 1833. I am, Sir, &c. IDAS. No. 26. A Shot Pheasant in the Agonies of Death-FOWLER.— The subject excellently portrayed. 57. Snipes-a pretty painted picture; as is 83, both by G. STEVENS. 114. Black Grouse, Ptarmigan, &c., by the same artist, is a soft and beautifully painted picture, with much truth of nature. 116. The Earl of EgremontW. DERBY.-We notice this picture as being an excellent likeness of this truly good and patriotic Nobleman, who, if not the Father of the Turf, is one of its noblest and warmest supporters. Man fond of field-sports and of active pursuits, at this season of the year and in London, would be puzzled to know how to amuse himself were it not for the Opera, the Theatre, parties at home and abroad, and other sights of gaiety and fashion with which this great modern Babylon abounds. Having been engaged to breakfast the other morning with an old friend, who is allowed to be a man of taste, and is a Sportsman every inch, our conversation naturally led to observations on " the ruling passion." We talked over the Races that have passed; those to come, with the entries for the different Stakes; public betting; the changes of Masters of Hounds and countries that have or may take place; yachting, cricketing, and other summer pursuits; the cheering prospects of the "sons of the trigger" in the forthcoming season; the evil of great preserves of game as detrimental to fox-hunting; the pleasure we al-An excellently painted picture, ways receive on the first of each only inferior to Landseer. The month in the perusal of good tone is very silvery, the white OLD MAGA; and lastly we got dog is beautifully painted, as are upon the sporting subjects in the others the dog sleeping the Suffolk-street Gallery. My with his head against the wall is friend's remarks on this Exhibi- capital, and the other in his slumtion were so just, unbiassed, and bers, unconscious of the burning convincing, at least to me, that on embers, equally so. returning to my temporary quarters, I could not refrain from committing them to paper: and though I do not profess to give them with that naïveté with which he expatiated on the merits or demerits of the artists, or with that critical acumen which distinguished your notice of the Royal Academy, yet as they are substantially the 130. Dos-à-Dos-C. HANCOCK. 146. The Sun Eagle-W.FowLER. A clever representation of this bird of prey. 153. Brace of Partridges-G. STEVENS.-Another faithful imitation of nature. 184. Grouse and Ptarmigan-G. STEVENS.-Pleasingly grouped, and delicately pencilled—a very clever picture, 227. Horse and Spaniels, the property of Lieut.-Col. Ferguson -C. HANCOCK.-The spaniels are excellently painted, but, to speak impartially, it cannot be said so of the white horse; it is flat, and the attitude cramped and out of nature. 281. The Nurse--R. B. DAVIS. -A faithful representation by this excellent artist of a hound and puppies. 284. Portrait of The ColonelR. B. DAVIS.-A clever-painted horse, shewing all the power and strength of that stallion, and more like his colour than any portrait we have seen of him. 289. Brace of Partridges and Golden Plover-S. NAYLOR.-A well-executed picture. 301. The Sportsman's HopesR. B. DAVIS.-We have here well pourtrayed the different characters of different puppies, and as like puppies and their manner as we ever saw. 320. Master Shard, his favorite Pony, and Greyhound-C. HANCOCK.--This picture is prettily composed: the painting of the rough pony is more true to Nature than any horse of this artist's in the Exhibition: transparently painted, and the whole is a rich piece of colouring. 339. Retribution-a spirited painted picture, by LANCE. 367. Portraits-R. B. DAVIS.No doubt good likenesses: they have the appearance of clever animals. 375. Dead Game-J. MORgen. -Well executed, but the colouring is cold. 389. The Kennel, drawing Hounds for Feeding-J. FERNELEY.-The story is well told-the attitudes good-the eagerness of some, and the restrained patience of others well conceived." 405. Reynard on the Look-out. We have seen pictures by STEVENS more striking. 408. An old English Staghound pinning a Buck in Waldershare Park-F. C. TURNER. This is a very clever picture, the fore-ground and landscape well touched; from which a good gazine. print has appeared in your Ma 469. Breaking Covert-Portraits of the Gentlemen of the Sedgefield Hunt-J. FERNELEY.-The circumstance is well told-the collect the hounds to the spot, huntsman blowing his horn to and their coming out of the cocoloured, the landscape being so vert. As a picture it is badly carroty. The seats and figures of the riders are excellent, and they look like Gentlemen. On the right-hand side there is a Gentleman in a dark coat, whose horse is in a very natural attitude to leap from a bank; he has just ridden up. In the action of the other horses there is a degree of stiffness. 471. Antelope, the property o R. LONGBOTTOM, a Portrait of a an Officer of the 7th HussarsChesnut Horse. We have seen better pictures by this artist. In the water-colour room is a Study of a Dog's Head, 574, by J. M. BURBANK-a very clever and highly-finished drawing. Arabian Horse, by Mrs. Colonel 585. Sketch of the Head of an ANSLY-a very masterly performance for a female. impression of Bromley's Print of Among the engravings is a fine Deer-Stalking after Landseer. 804. Middleton, painted by C. HANCOCK, drawn on stone by T. Fairland. We have not seen the picture; but, to speak candidly, we cannot say that this gave us any idea of that fine stallion, reminding us more of one of Booth's draught horses in a fanciful attitude. In this room is a subject of Hawking, from a model by E. COTTERILL in silver-Messrs. GARROD.-This is a very clever and well-executed thing, in a material we should think very difficult to work. It is the most perfect thing of the kind ever executed. THE SPORTSMAN'S SUMMER-No. I.. SİR, field stood higher than that of an old woman, or mere spectator for the sake of fashion. To many and many a frequenter of the covert-side nevertheless-to men, who, unimbued with the genuine love of sport, hunt only by way of occupation and to kill time, I can easily imagine the Summer to be as much a season of ennui and horror, and as " peculiarly hard to be got rid of," as a Sunday was at Osbaldistone Hallt to its brainless and resourceless inmates. The truth is, that the same want of fire and energy that marks such unhappy individuals in the field, forbids them also to enter actively into any other pursuit; and hence the yawning drowsiness with which they dose away the Summer, and the passive inanimation with which they walk through the part of fox-hunter in winter. It were absurd, however, to call such people Sportsmen, even though they go the length of wearing a red coat, and quaff bumper after bumper to "the noble cause," et cetera. WITH a stud of horses in my stable, there is no one, Mr. Editor, who contemplates the close of the Hunting Season with more regret than your humble servant; yet, were I enabled to avail myself of its amusements as I could wish, there are few, I believe, who would more thoroughly and completely enjoy the Summer. The last day once fairly over, the season's sand once fairly run out, I can forget, as my old friend Saddel* used to express himself, that there is such a being as a fox-hound upon earth; and can enter, if not with that battement de cœur with which one mounts the hack on the 1st of November, at least with zest and relish, into the variety of pursuits that offer themselves to wile away the interval. I have little pity indeed for those pseudo-enthusiasts in the noble cause, who would fain persuade us that with hunting their enjoyment of existence begins and terminates; and, to the best of my remembrance, I never met with an individual that was ass enough to make the declaration, I was much amused when last of whom the character in the in Dorsetshire by an anecdote, The well-known hard riding Mr. Campbell of Glensaddel. + See Rob Roy, Vol. I. Chap. 11. |