the sport was too much for us: we felt that we ought to go; our reason told us that we ought to go-but we stayed.

Hunger at last arrested us. Fresh air and excitement had brought us to the verge of famishment (if there is such a word-and if there is not, there ought to be). We looked out for a pretty spot whereon to eat our bread-and-cheese. An old hollow oak with green branches above on the one hand, and a hawthorn hedge twined about with honeysuckles on the other, invited us to their shade. Both were pictures the oak was perched on a little "plot of rising ground," where the turf seemed more like a carpet for fairies to dance upon than herbage for fat beeves to eat the honeysuckle hedge allured us with its perfumes poured from a thousand flowery censers. We were fairly puzzled : right hand declared for oak; left hand voted for honeysuckle: legs suspended their judgment. The simile of Mahomet's coffin will here occur to every discerning reader; we will therefore spare him the infliction : ditto the donkey and the hay, that favorite of the metaphysicians. But, coffin or no coffin, donkey or no donkey, there we stuck. Just then a gripe of hunger seizing us suddenly, we broke the spell; and, the oak being nearest, we rushed to that.

On the beauties of bread-and-cheese, who shall dilate! on the pleasantness of pale sherry, who shall desire instruction! The man, Sir, who would enjoy the honest titillations of a keen appetite should eat his dinner under a tree: he who would gustate in all its amplitude the pleasure of imbibition should have Activity for his cup-bearer, and Temperance for his companion. (If Johnson can beat that, set us down for a Puseyite.) The scene around us was lovely: the meadows, green as emerald under our feet, were at a little distance yellow over with flowers: the river went dancing by

"Like a child with a song :"

on the farther bank, a luxuriant hanging coppice exhibited every hue and shade of verdure; while from every leaf of the whole grove issued some beautiful bird-voice, which seemed to be hymning its joy at the glories and pleasures that were scattered around. No human habitation was near: all was wild and untrimmed. But far away to the left might be seen the grey spire of the village church peeping from its bower of tufted trees; and farther still away, away over twenty hill-tops, the old gables of the old manor-house, where tales of Norman Knights and Norman Barons, aye and Norman Goblins too, are as plenty as the lichens on its walls or the holes in its roof.

It was a lovely prospect! and brought forcibly to mind that sweet little picture of dear old father Walton :-"Look! under that broad beech-tree I sat down when I was last this way a-fishing; and the birds in the adjoining grove appeared to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree, near the brow of that primrose hill. There I sat, viewing the silver streams glide silently towards their centre, the tempestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by rugged roots and pebble-stones, which broke their waves, and turned them into foam. And sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs; some leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others disported themselves in the cheerful sun. As I thus sat, these and other

sights had so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought (as the Poet hath happily expressed it)—

High was I rapt above the scenes of earth,

And joys possessed not promised in my birth.”

Dear old Sempster! glorious old Man-milliner! we saw every sight, and felt every feeling, he has so quaintly depicted and we longed for, our "pocket edition," that we might go through the whole scene; and did attempt the Milkmaid's Song in a husky bread-and-cheesy voice, but could get no further than "Live with me and be my love," having none of Doctor Stolberg's Voice Lozenges in our pocket, and no one to run and fetch us a box. In fancy's eye we could almost persuade ourselves that we saw the whole dramatis personæ before us: and again the words of glorious Izaak came gushing over our soul like an odour of fieldflowers:-"Look! yonder, on my word, yonder they be (videlicet, the milkmaid and her mother); yonder they be, both a-milking again! I will give them the chub, and persuade them to sing those two songs

to us.

By the by, that was a most rascally thing of the old Breeches-maker to give those two poor women his brute of a "logger-headed chub," as he somewhere else calls it. If he had offered them a trout now! or a small brace of perch! but that nasty, wishy-washy, flabby, dabby chub! an impudent, insolent, cheating, miserly, lubberly, thorough-paced old Cockney! we wonder he could have the effrontery. We should like to see him now-a-days walking up to Grisi and Persiani, calling upon them for two of their best songs, and then offering them a vile chub between 'em! No, no; we won't believe it: we won't believe that Father Izaak wrote so pitiful a sentence as that: it's an interpolation.

Let's see! where were we? Oh! sitting down under the oak tree drinking our sherry.

Well, dinner over, to work we went again, and with renewed success. Pike after pike was laid at our victorious feet, and night only closed our career. We could no longer distinguish weed from water: it was time to return. Away, then, we went homewards, calling at the oak tree for our Macintosh and empty flask, which we had stowed away in the old hollow trunk: away, away, over bank and brae, over gate and gap, till we came at last to the spot where we had left the boat.

"Ten thousand devils! the boat is gone!"

During our absence, some unhappy agriculturist had crossed the stream, and left the unlucky punt on the other side. With the vehemence of a bull of Basan we bellowed forth our abandonment. Nothing but the echo from the hollow woods replied to us. We raised our cries to a still higher pitch: the mocking-voice did the same. It was no longer the "birds having a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live near the brow of a primrose hill ;" and, in contrasting the situations, my heart sank within me. I hurried up the river bank, and cried again; but with no better success. I rushed back to try the ferry once more all was blank. I floundered down the stream (for it was now so dark that I could no longer see where I was stepping), but silence still reigned around. I rushed out into the open meadow, hoping to escape that way, but was soon brought up by a quagmire, Not

daring to turn to the right or to the left, from fear of tumbling headlong into one of the dykes with which I knew the meadow to be intersected in all directions, I groped my way back to the stream side. I shouted again; but was now become so hoarse with bawling that I could scarcely be heard by the frogs on the opposite bank. What was to be done! My only chance of escape from perishment with cold seemed to be in running up and down the river bank till morning. Pleasing pastime ! At this moment an idea flashed across my mind-the Oak!!! Yes, in the hollow of that old oak I might screen myself from the nightbreeze there I might rest my weary head (among the touchwood): there I might find shelter from the noxious dews that were falling like a pestilence around me. Away I went, took possession of my dormitory, examined the premises, noted their capabilities, hung up my Macintosh over the entrance by four fish-hooks, fixed my fishing-pannier in a snug corner to put my feet upon, crammed my hat into a hole where the wind came, tied my pocket-handkerchief round my head for a nightcap, tossed off the last modicum of sherry in my wine-flask, bedded my head comfortably down in the touchwood-and upon my word, gentle reader, it's astonishing what a comfortable couch I found myself lodged in. Whether it was the exercise, or the excitement, or the sherry, or the shouting, or the fairies, I know not; but this I know, that I never passed a better night in all my life. Dreams, delicious as the meadow-flowers around me, hovered over my pillow-I think I said pillow; houris from paradise, elves from fairy-land, conspired to dazzle my eyes with splendor, and fill my heart with delight. That I was in the hands of the fairies, there can be but little doubt. Oberon, Titania, Puck, Peas-blossom, all were about me. The wonders of the Thousand-and-one-Nights were realized for me wishing-carpet, singing-tree, flying-horse, gardens whose fruits were of emerald and ruby, all were mine. Moon-faced damsels and antelope-eyed maidens danced around me like moths around a sunbeam. Vision succeeded vision, each more delightful than the preceding. One of these I cannot help citing.

The lovely Shereefa was the fairest blossom of Arabia. Young as spring, she was beautiful as the rosebud. Her father (Achmet Ahmed Abdalla Gog) was King of the country: she was his only heir; and I, happy I, was her affianced and only love. We were seated in a bower of jasmin and tafila-el-babbish (a flower of the country not yet known to English botanists): beautiful maidens from Circassia brought us ever and anon sherbet and other delicious temperance-drinks in vases of gold and crystal: a thousand slaves waited without to fulfil our slightest wishes fountains murmured around, and threw a delicious coolness over the air laden with perfumes. Then the lovely Shereefa played on her silver mandolin with a ravishing sweetness: I accompanied her on the violoncello. She sang the Song of Hafiz, telling of the loves of the Bulbul and the Rose: I touched off, "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls"—and be sure I turned on the appassionato when I came to that sentence where I assured her that "I also dreamt (which pleased me most) that she loved me still the same." The hours fleeted by like zephyr over the valleys: Time seemed to be annihilated: Love had seized his scythe and hour-glass, had dulled the one and broken the VOL. V.-THIRD SERIES, N. S.-No. 29.

Tt

other. At this juncture, the fascinating Shereefa, placing her antelopeeyes close to mine, murmured, in the sweetest possible tones,

"Azor (such was the name I bore), is there not, in that far land of the West, where the Sun sinks into his bed, and the Stars into their cradles, some fair-haired daughter of beauty to whom thou hast pledged thy word and thy faith?"

"Light of my eyes," I replied, "sunshine of my soul, moonlight of my mind-no!"

"I will believe thee, Azor."

"Do, brightest, dearest, best!"

66

Thy father, Azor, doth he live? and what is he?"

"He is a Noble of the land, my Shereefa! (a bit of a figure-ofspeech by the by, but excusable under the circumstances); one of the pinnacles of the people, and learned as a Dervish."

"And thy mother?"

"She is worthy to mate with so good, so wise a man."

"And thy brothers, who are they?"

"Worthy scions of so worthy a stock."

"And WHO THE DEVIL ARE YOU?"

I opened my eyes, as well I might. The words were repeated with more vehemence than before

"WHO THE DEVIL ARE YOU?"

I opened my eyes still wider, and there stood Giles Burton, the farmer's cow-man, staring through the Macintosh, and looking as blank and wonder-stricken as if he'd found Beelzebub himself asleep under some necromancer's spell. A third time the interrogatory was repeated. Flinging off my nightcap à la Bandana,

"Why, Giles !" I cried, " don't you know me?"

"Good lawks ! Mr. Brakenhurst, is that you? Well, I!—did you ever!-by jingo, if I'd know'd-well, I never!"

And then Giles went off into a laugh of fourteen-horse power; and then I told him my whole history; and then he helped me to make my toilet, and gather up my properties; and then I bribed him to keep the adventure a profound secret; and then he shewed me the nearest way home; and that's the last time I spent

A MAY DAY AMONG THE PIKE, AND

A NIGHT IN A STRANGE Bed.

ONE CHEER MORE FOR THE GAME LAWS.
BY RING WOOD.

GENTLE or ungentle Reader, as the case may be, don't be frightened or disgusted at the heading of our article, formidable it must be allowed from frequent repetition; yet, notwithstanding the subject is old, it is still upon the public anvil, and we promise you in the outset that we are not about to inflict upon you the unnecessary torture of wading through all the Statutes that have been or are still in force for the pro

tection of game and for the punishment of offenders, but endeavour to place the subject before you as a matter of property vested in one man, and the questionable right of taking it by force or stratagem by another; to state our reasons why we consider game may be de facto et de jure the property of individuals; and to examine how far the destruction of birds and beasts denominated feræ naturæ from off the face of the country (as appears to be the wish of many in the present day) would eventually benefit society by decreasing crime; or, in other words (for this is the pith of the matter, and without this consummation all the arguments of the enemies of the Game Laws go for nothing), making a certain portion of Her Majesty's lieges denominated poachers, who now swell at Assize and Quarter Sessions our criminal calendar, better subjects, ceasing to do evil, and satisfying their wants and earning their daily bread by honest industry. Great, wise, and good men have argued, written, and acted to ameliorate these laws, and to render them efficient and palatable; but still the cry is, "away with them!" Wellmeaning and good-intentioned people (a class by the by, unless they are wise and really good, must be considered mere busy-bodiesa nd meddlers), plenty as blackberries, are still trying their "prentice hands," and, like most beginners, with zeal without knowledge, are making a pretty mess of it, mistaking (no common error) cause for effect, and lecturing on crime without the slightest knowledge of the criminal.

In reviewing the army of virulent opposers to the existence of the Game Laws, we cannot help observing, that the main body is composed of men who from their habits of life and "local habitation" have the least chance of being thoroughly acquainted with them in their varied ramifications; for instance, Commercialists dwelling in, and whose time is entirely taken up in manufacturing towns and districts; and that undervalued and worse paid race of men who proffer their remarks on men and matter at so much per line in the metropolitan and provincial newspapers. We know the power of the last-mentioned party, to which even the omnipotence of Parliament (we hope we are not guilty of treason) is but secondary. This vox populi (though not always vox Dei) made the last material alteration in the Game Laws, and from it all future amendments or obliteration will eventually emanate. The people i. e. the Press-said, make game saleable; do away with all qualification excepting the certificate; let us no longer pursue game or eat it contrary to the law of the land; this will put down poaching; it is all we ask it was deemed wise, reasonable, and salutary, and lo! it was done. Has the grand object then prophesied been realized? We are no politicians, or we might draw similar conclusions from the like premises as promised on subjects of graver moment. But the love of change and meddling increases with the course of time. "Do mischief rather than do nothing," seems the maxim of the movement party. Men's minds as well as bodies now must travel rail-road pace: a fashionable frivolity shall excite a kingdom. The Polka capsized the Quadrille, and usurped the dominion of the Waltz: the nations stood aghast, and now, like other tyrants, it trembles at the appearance of a rival near the throne: nothing is suffered to retain any portion of its original form and effect at the present time but Death and Quarter-day.

But to return, and shew why we consider game may be as much the