CURLING IN SCOTLAND. BY HAWTHORN. Curling is a game of great antiquity and popularity in Scotland; it is a winter game, and when the ground becomes covered with snow, and the brooks and lakes are frozen, usually supersedes all other out-of-door amusements. It is played by a party forming rival sides, each individual being possessed of a pair of circular stones, flat and smooth on the under side, and on the upper side having a handle fixed to the stone; the weight of these stones is from 38 to 42 lbs. each, as the fancy of the player may dictate. Each player is likewise armed with a broom to sweep the ice, in order to accelerate the progress of the stones; and his feet are furnished with crampits, which help to steady him in taking his aim. A large long open space of ice, called a "rink," being cleared, and a mark or "tee" being made at each end of the rink to play to, the contest takes place, by each person hurling his stones towards the opposite end of the rink. A certain number being the game, the object of each side is which will have the greatest number of stones nearest the tee, and all play from end to end alternately, till this is ascertained. To hurl these stones with precision, in this species of sport, is exceedingly difficult, much depending on the keenness of the frost, the tone of the ice, and the truth of the stone. Sometimes the very best and oldest players are baffled by beginners, simply by their curling stones having taken a bias to one side or another; and frequently after the best players have placed their stones round the tee, one rapid and well-directed shot from an antagonist will disperse the whole in all directions round. Occasionally it also happens that in hurling the stones come far short of the mark; but if they do not get beyond a line called the "hogg-score they are dragged aside, and are not counted, and the merry laugh is heard, and the cry out against the laggard is—" Away wi' him to the pig-market, what a hog!" A more than usually extensive match, such as parish against parish, or county against county, is called a "bonspiel." Such is a meagre outline of the grand game of curling, which all over Scotland, during the keen frosty days of winter, engages all classes of persons in its exciting sport-parish contends against parish, county against county, club against club-in universal mirthful rivalry. So keenly is the game pursued, that in many places where there are no natural ponds or lakes, artificial ones are formed for the purpose of being frozen and then the "roaring game " begins. The time is not distant when the game of curling was little known out of Scotland: but the taste for this manly sport has increased greatly of late years, and in various parts of " merry England" the broom and the channel-stone are put in requisition with the same regularity that winter comes round. In the whole range of rural sports we know nothing more exhilarating than a spiel on the ice, where the players are numerous and well matched -the stakes a dinner of "beef and greens," and the forfeit the honour of rival parishes. Whether we mingle with the eager throng, or perambulate the banks of the frozen lake, on the principle that "Distance lends enchantment to the view," the scene abounds with points of interest that might well afford scope for the pencil of the far-famed Landseer. First we have the icy arena itself, scooped at the bottom of some quiet vale, fringed with weeds from which the wild-duck rises whirring on the wing; and skirted alders, whose beautifully feathered and fantastic tops seem more engaging than when nursed into foliage by the beams of May; all around is blank and dreary- the snow-flake freezes as fast as it falls, the sun seems level with the horizon's verge, the hills make the spectator cold to look at them, and everything, in one word, conspires to complete the picture of a winter's day. But the courage of men bent on the favourite amusement of curling is not easily damped by the inclemency of the elements; on the contrary, their spirits seem to mount as the thermometer falls, and notbing pleases them more than a feeding storm, and along with that the prospect of a long lease of " their roaring play." Arrived at the scene of action, all is bustle and animation till the stones have been distributed, assorted, and claimed, rinks measured, tramps fastened, tees marked, and the order of battle completely arranged; and as these preliminaries are speedily settled, to it the parties set with all the anxiety of those who contend for a much higher prize. Lots are cast for the first shot, and the greatest novice invited to deliver the first stone; and should his arm lack the proper pith, that instant a Fost of brooms is waiting at the hogg-score to help the laggard towards the tee-a second, a third, a fourth, succeeds and so on. And each player is warned, by his respective friends, to plant, if possible, an excellent guard-dislodge this stone, and cover that-open up one port, and close another-play soft or strong, outside or inside, as the occasion may require, and to steer as closely by the signal broom as the mariner, when warned by similar devices, threads his watery way through the sand-banks and shallows of the deep. As the animating sport deepens it is amusing to contrast the bustle that obtains in one little spot, with the stillness that broods over the external world; while the hills above are silent and dark, the shining lake below is instinct with life, and resounds with sounds of mirth and glee, which borne along on the elastic air, invade the solemn loneliness that reigns around, till echo itself takes up the tale, and repeats in broken fragments the curlers' vocabulary. At length, as the more veteran players advance to decide by their skill the fate of the side, the interest becomes intense, and gives rise to so many calculations of what is to be done and what avoided, such bustling to and fro, as must appear a perfect mystery to the uninitiated. The last wary shot booms athwart the ice as if impelled by magic; and while every port to a looker-on seems closed, finds its way under the guidance of a powerful arm and steady eye, through passages rivalling the in tricacy of the walls of Troy. Then follow the shouts of victory and the murmurs of defeat, till the contest is renewed under the mingled emotions of hope and fear--the vanquished trusting that the tables will be turned, and the conquerors confident that they will remain the same. At this stage of the business, which may be aptly enough described as Act the First of the curling drama, rations of bread and cheese, with a glass of the real "mountain dew," are handed round; and when the combatants feel their stomachs warmed and their strength recruited, to work again they set with fresh vigour, the one party bent on recovering the ground they unfortunately lost, and the other determined to retain the laurels they have already won. In a trice the eager players are marshalled, and the broom put in requisition as before-again the stones boom away and away, meandering here, meeting there-again shot succeeds shot, and game follows game until the conclusion of the bonspiel, or the shades of evening proclaim that it is time the sport should close for the day. Such is but a faint outline of the grand and glorious game of curling, so much sought after in Scotland. In this county (Perthshire) the game of curling is a very favourite sport with almost every shade of society. The Duke of Athol is a keen curler; the Earl of Mansfield; Lords Kinnaird, Stormont, and Dupplin; Hon. Fox Maule; Sirs Thomas Moncrieff, J. Mackenzie, and J. A. Macgregor, are all keen "knights of the broom and channelstone," and are always ready at their post, and busy on the rink, during the keen frosty days of winter. Each of these noblemen and gentlemen have formed artificial curling rinks, and where the "roaring game is enjoyed with mirth and glee, and made open to all curlers, for in curling there is no aristocracy of feeling; and so, for the time, a universal saturnalia prevails. On many of these artificial ponds these noblemen order from their mansions a most substantial luncheon to be brought on the ice, and where all partake of the bountiful repast. On the Scone ice, hot “ beef and greens (the curlers' favourite fare) is put before every curler, with a famous stew made à la Meg Merrilies, with a bountiful supply of "hot toddy," and lots of home-brewed for all comers, and no one seems to enjoy the sports and pastimes of the ice better than the noble Earl of Mansfield. On the Scone ice many keenly contested matches have been played within these last four or five weeks; and in many other of the curlingponds in the vicinity of the "fair city" of St. John (Perth). But enough has been said to give our brother sportsmen of the south an outline of the " roaring game," and with all due respect, we subscribe, Your old correspondent, February, 1850. HAWTHORN. "THE BATTLE OF LIFE." ENGRAVED BY J. WESTLEY, from A PAINTING BY G. ARMFIELD. "The Battle of Life" comes in such apt illustration of the following lines from the Poet Laureat of the Chase, that we see no just cause or impediment to at once joining them together. Wild tumult reigns, And loud uproar. Ah! there once more he vents! His rash assault. See, there escaped, he flies This artful diver best can bear the want Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced LITERATURE. THE HAND-BOOK OF GAMES.-This is the volume of the "Scientific Library" for Feb., 1850, published by Henry G. Bohn, of York Street, Covent Garden. It contains six hundred and seventeen pages, and is sold for five shillings retail, and wholesale from three-and-sixpence downwards, according to the quantity taken-a heavy blow and great discouragement to such as offer as a bargain "sixteen yards of songs for a ha'penny." Philanthropy, for the nonce, is monopolized by those who labour with the hand, or rather with the finger: sympathy is engrossed by the needlewomen, and eke the needle-men. When shall Charity find |