notice taken of my poor friend "Nimrod," beyond the mere mention of his death. Rudolph Ackermann, when I asked him that question, replied, Your friend Mr. Surtees, of Hamsterley Hall, Durham, has it in hand, in conjunction with another edition of your poor brother-in-law, John Mytton. But this was more than a year-and-a-half ago; and I think some little notice of the life of one of the greatest and most admired writers on sporting matters of his day, is not only a compliment due to the memory of the dead, but would also be received with a welcome by the living; and I hope I may be the means of calling forth some sketch of him in your pages. The greatest fault he laboured under was a want of money; and I hope, therefore, the hint I have thrown out may be received as it is meant, and not call forth any other feeling on the part of the public, but the one so suitably expressed to every human being who has passed away from us in the words de mortuis nil nisi bonum. In this spirit I shall hope, as a reader of your pages, to see some notice taken, by a more able pen than my own, of a man, who to every sportsman possessed so much that was agreeable, and helped to make time pass pleasantly as he did. I have now said enough on this subject: I shall revert to one or two others-hunting and shooting-which I shall glance at hurriedly and concisely.

I was much pleased and surprised, at the beginning of last season, with the turn-out in the far West, with my old friend Mr. Trelawny's hounds, horses, &c., at his first fixture for the season-Ivy Bridge. There were at least twenty-seven horses there, looking as fit to go, and men as neat in their appointments as you would see in a field at the famed Swinford Bridge, or Foxhall, in Northamptonshire; and this I really did not expect to see so far westward, remembering the total impracticability of the country. Mountains-not hills-rocks, waterfalls, bogs, and every impediment imaginable, excepting to the birds, so well delineated in your pages, as "Once more upon the Moors." There certainly is a spirit in the Far West that does not exist here, where with the greatest difficulty the Hambledon will be continued, even under the able management of Mr. Smyth, once the Master of the Pytchley, and where, I cannot but say, all-as far as I am able to judge-wears the appearance of decline, as far as the Noble Science is concerned. However, the difficulties of this country are closely allied to those of the West; and if we have not bogs and rocks and mountains, we have hills that Eclipse himself would stop at, if his remains could be reanimated, and woods and heavy wet ground-not covering acres, but positively miles; and as far as I have seen of this country, a man would be justified in calling it woods and hills and morass, and nothing but woods and hills and morass, the downs and open grounds being so few and far between. However, on the very score of an English sport, and all the harmony and good feeling it is calculated to continue, I hope the hunt will be supported as it ought to be, as there is no lack of rich men, who only want rousing from their beds of down, and consequent idleness. There are several well-mounted men, my old schoolfellow at Eton, Wyndham Campbell, my neighbour Delmè, the Greenwoods, &c., but the latter belong to the H. H. Country; and among the men that can go, I must not forget Dyson and Barkworth. Now there is one fault I must notice in your writers of the different hunts. They never mention the men who are still going well, which they ought to do. I

am glad to hear my old friend "the Squire of Langton" (Farquharson)whose portrait, and that of his old huntsman and whipper-in, Ben Jennings and Solomon, hang over my sideboard-is still doing the thing in the same princely way he used; and long may he be spared, for the county of Dorset's sake! I remember years ago saying, and I still say, where, where shall we look for his fellow? and I know the farmers will echo the question. Of the sea it is justly said, there are as good fish in it as ever came out of it. I wish I could think the same of the hunting field, and that I could look round, and see among the young ones counterparts of the old Mr. Corbett, of Sundorne Castle; the late Duke of Beaufort, Grafton, &c. But alas alas! I cannot find them; and now I conclude with one question: Who can make a better gun than Charles Lancaster ?

And so subscribe myself, yours, &c.,

J. H. L

Cosham Lodge, near Portsmouth, Aug. 2, 1848. N.B. I was much gratified at Ivy Bridge with a sight of Paul Treby and his horse, both flyers across the moor, and perfect in their way. Neither must I omit among the best men in this county and hunt Mr. Jervoise, of Idsworth Park, who, when business is to be done, is always with the hounds; nor a compliment due to Squires, the late huntsman, now with Col. Wyndhan-a more civil servant I never met, nor did I ever see a more effective huntsman.

Nothing can be more perfect than the horses and stable management of Mr. Trelawney, to see both would repay a visit to Plymouth.

ENGRAVED BY J. SCOTT, FROM A PAINTING BY G. H. LAPORTE.

The gentle reader, or the intelligent subscriber-and we confess we prefer the latter, as the more endearing term of the two-will have already learnt by the title of the plate, if he have only taken the perhaps necessary trouble of staying to read it, that Dick and Daisy, the lady and gentleman of our present subject, are two celebrated pointers. In further elucidation, we may proceed to say that Dick is the dog making that point which gives a name to his profession, and that he is well backed by Daisy; both standing as steady as the needle to the pole, a soldier for the word, a ranter to his text, a lady to her love, or any other immovable "adamantine rock, impenetrable" sort of simile that may suggest itself as you creep up to them. It might, though, be as well not to bother your head for any further metaphor, but get on as quick and as quiet as possible-for recollect, we would hardly answer for the first dog in the world, on the first day of the season-and so, not throwing a chance away, take your shot right-and-left instanter, like the old hand you are, or the young muff you may be.

Dick and Daisy were bred by Mr. Humphrey, of Diss, in the

county of Norfolk, celebrated-by something of an anomaly, according to public opinion just now-as one of the best districts in the kingdom for good farming and game-preserving. Even in this fashionable locality, our brace of dogs soon became remarkable for steadiness, style, and, in fact, every virtue for which the pointer is "generally recommended." So extended, indeed, became their fame, that it reached the ear of a French gentleman of the name of Leguin, living in Picardy, and who, wanting something a little superior, had of course to come to England for it, as every man must do who wishes for a "first-rate article" in the horse or hound market. The bitch he purchased for thirty pounds, while for the dog he made it guineas and now, we hear, all France would not buy them. In addition to their own individual performances, which have been declared unequalled in the land of their adoption, they have told uncommonly well as a cross with the native French pointer; a slow and steady hunter, whose qualifications have been much improved by a taste of the superior dash and courage of the English breed. As a general rule, we believe it is held that the less a pointer is now crossed out of his own immediate race, the better; the different varieties having been "nicked" to as near perfection as possible. We fancy, however, from the success of this experiment, that breeding from the two acknowledged kinds of the two countries might be fol lowed up more than it is; for, at any rate, the French sportsman would, by his own showing, reap an advantage; and we are not quite so sure but even Mr. Bull, with all the proper pride of his sort, might cross in to a purpose.

Our print, which we consider a very fine specimen of what we "undertake to supply," is after as clever a picture by Mr. Laporte, who has admirably carried out that golden rule for the artist, whenever it can in any way be acted on, of making a good portrait a good picture. It has perhaps stood over rather longer than so attractive and finished a work should; but then, with our usual tact, we have been waiting for the tide, and so are now enabled to follow suit with as much precision as the veriest old dowager could command, or the safest shot expect.

LITERATURE.

JONES'S GUIDE TO NORWAY, AND SALMON-FISHER'S POCKET COMPANION. Edited by Frederick Tolfrey, Esq. (London: Longman and Co., Paternoster-row. 1848.)-As a companion for battue shooting, we have now battue fishing all the fashion. Nobles and gentles fit out yachts for the North Seas as full of piscatory tackle as trawl-boats, and away they go to Norway, with its yet unangled rivers and "fosses" and "fjords," to captivate fishes by the ton-in especial, salmons-so as to put Billingsgate out of countenance. While we are silent upon the taste of such expeditions, we may, at all events, recommend those who are bound upon them, to make Mr. Tolfrey their guide, philosopher, and friend. Unless they take both