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exception of a few years passed in the neighbourhood of Mr. Isaac Day, at Northleach, he has generally found a home. He married here about seventeen years since Miss Jennings, a native of the town, with whom he continues to enjoy the sweets of an independence achieved by hard industry, much ability, and unflinching integrity of purpose. In disposition and habits he has always been somewhat retiring-not anxious to say much himself, or, as we fancy, to have much said of him. In deference to this we so leave him in our Gallery of Celebrated Jockeys.

THE CLOSE OF THE GROUSE SEASON FOR 1851: A FEW WORDS FROM "THE GRAMPIANS."

BY HAWTHORNE.

"Lands may be fair ayont the sea,

But Highland hills and lochs for me!"

"The Grampians"-the abode of the "wild red knights of the forest" and feathery-footed bird of the moors-is that broad and wild mountain range which runs along the eastern side of the Highlands of Scotland, overlooking the western portion of the Lowlands, and forming the natural barrier or boundary-line between the two great divisions of the country. The beauties and picturesque scenery of this district have again and again been described in these pages; and with good cause too, for there is a peculiar aspect in the wild grandeur of the Grampians that, once seen, cannot be forgotten-a scene in which nature appears in her most romantic garb, exhibiting at the same glance the sharp and rugged mountain profile, with the dreary waste, widestretching lake, and rapid, narrowed torrent-over which play the thunder and lightning, and the full force of the storm delights to exhaust its terrific rage. The mighty Wizard of the North, in his "Lady of the Lake," gives us many a faithful picture of this land of mountain and mist, as ecce :

"It was a wild and strange retreat
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.
The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast.
Its trench had stayed full many a rock
Hurled by primeval earthquake-shock
From Ben-venue's grey summit wild;
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,
And formed the rugged sylvan grot.
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless where, short and sudden, shone
From struggling beam, on cliff or stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depth, Futurity!

No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain-rill;

But when the wind chafed with the lake,
A sullen sound would upward break,
With dasbing, hollow voice, that spoke
The incessant war of wave and rock.
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey.
From such a den the wolf had sprung;
In such, a wild cat leaves her young :
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Grey Superstition's whisper dread
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread;
For there, she said, did fays resort,
And satyrs hold their sylvan court,
By moonlight tread their mystic maze,
And blast the rashi beholder's gaze."

No wonder such a land should have given birth to the song of the bard, and afforded, in all ages, material for the theme of the sage. No wonder that its inhabitants should be tinctured with a deep feeling of romance, or that the recollection of their own picturesque dwellings should haunt them at all times and in all places. No wonder that such a range strikes home to the heart of the sportsman.

Most of the Highland proprietors now so very generally let the right of sporting over their lands, that moors varying in their accommodations and resources to suit the different classes of bidders are in the market; for, be it remembered, they are not all "sportsmen" who rent a grouseshooting. Rents are found to vary proportionately at all prices from £50 to £500, and some shootings are taken at a figure even beyond these. Partridges are plentiful in some of tho low straths; the ptarmigan and Alpine hare dwell in the lofty uplands, the stately red deer in the sequestered wilds, and the lovely roe deer in the lower coverts. These, with grouse, woodcocks, snipes, and a bountiful supply of wild fowls, bring a good rental to the "Land Laird ;" and now that the "rail" has brought the Grampians within easy reach of the "southern sportsman," good grouse-shooting is still on the rise in the market, while indeed it promises in a very short time to be no easy matter to obtaic.

In the month of May last we paid a short visit to the merry homes of England; saw The Dutchman and Voltigeur contest for victory over Knavesmire mead, as Teddington and Iris lead on to victory over the Epsom Downs; after that, a brief sojourn in the " Modern Babylon," and then right glad were we to find ourselves back again among our own heath-clad hills, again to breathe the pure air of the mountain side. Grouse shooting on the Grampians for 1851 opened rather gloomily, the weather, one of the greatest considerations to the grouse shooter, being very unsettled for the first twenty days of the season; after that period, however, "all went merry as a marriage bell," and up to the very close of the season-10th December, 1851-never was there in the remembrance of man a succession of more beautiful weather. The various shooting parties located during this period among the mountains enjoyed themselves to the utmost, and had a succession of glorious sport. The red deer, too, were in prime

condition, and many a noble hart fell to the crack of the rifle. Amongst others, his Grace the Duke of Athol and party had some grand doings in the Athol forest, whilst in the Blackmount Forest the Marquis of Breadalbane and his friends had also very fair sport. At the ancient forest of Mar the Duke of Leeds killed a large quantity of deer, many of them royal harts. This is the last year of his Grace's lease of the Mar Forest. Still we have no doubt but the heads of antlers preserved will often recal in years yet to come the glories of the mountain sport. Roe deer have been in equally prime condition; indeed, we never saw them better nor more plentiful than they now are all over the north. Grouse, black game, and the wild cock of the north (capercailsie) can be as favourably reported during the past season, and even at this prcsent writing (December 22nd, 1851), are in great plenty all over the Grampians, as well as being quite free from disease. In fact such a season for plenty of game, as regards the grouse family especially, has not been experienced since 1846, and all now to hope for is that the weather keep favourable, and that we have another as good breeding season in 1852.

We could enumerate many sportsmen who made great slaughter within the Grampian range of moors during the past season; but we shall not particularize; suffice it to mention, that for once few of the various parties of grouse shooters there located returned to the south dissatisfied with their sport. I speak more particularly of the Perthshire Moors. Few of these said parties who came under our notice, and who remained for any length of time, numbering less than 300 brace of grouse in their game book; while many went far above 1,000 brace, in addition to a variety of other mountain game; still, with all that slaughter, the birds are to be seen in great numbers at this present time. Aye! and remember, brother sportsmen of the sunny shores of the south, that "Hawthorne" is no Highland laird "to tell you this thing"-no, nor noble or gentleman's "factor," who would be interested in the letting of a moor. The sole incentive to the writing of this brief paper is to record the true state of the grouse family among the mountains. As such it is written, as such be it read. One word more, and we have done. To those who may be inclined to make their debut on the moors in the coming season, now is the time to look out, in order to secure for yourselves good shootings. Go or send some trustworthy person to ascertain what stock of game is left on the moors offered you; then make your bargain; put on a person to protect the shootings; kill down the vermin, which can be easily done by poison and traps-no gun, recollect, required by the guardian of the moors-and with a good breeding season in 'fifty-two, if you have not sport-and glorious sport, too-for your money, then say, as Falstaff says, that "This world is given to lying," and that my name is not HAWTHORNE.

Grampians, Dec. 22nd, 1851.

F

spirit of accommodation occurred last season. A tenant farmer in the Wolds summoned Sir Richard Sutton to the County Court, for damage done by riding over his land; ample compensation was of fered, but the man is a dissenter, and he hoped in his heart to strangle fox-hunting altogether. Complainant appeared; Mr. Cradock represented the baronet. Complainant swore to a man in a velvet cap: Mr. Cradock showed that many members of the hunt wore velvet caps. Complainant swore he had a red coat: Mr. Cradock proved that numbers wore red coats. In short Mr. Pitchfork was utterly unable to prove that Sir Richard was the trespasser, and to the joy of sportsmen he was grassed and saddled with the costs. He richly deserves this little niche in Maga's temple. I am reminded, by this paltry exercise of petty power, of the conduct of the yeomen of the Atherstone country towards the present Sir Robert Peel: they compel him, if the advertisement is to be credited, to send his hunting stud to "The Corner." I think this a legitimate exercise of the lex talionis, for certainly Sir Robert had, as much as in him lay, prevented their hunting Protection in his manor of Tamworth.

"Heu! quantùm mutatus ab illo !
Pælides!"

The death of a nobleman, who through life has been a fast friend to foxhunting and to foxhunters, cast a great gloom over Leicestershire. I allude to the late Lord Rancliffe. Bunny Woods, however, still re-echo with the hunter's horn and the melody of hounds, though he is no longer there to whom such sounds were life and joy. Sportsmen are often deemed callous fellows. Those who witnessed the first meet at Bunny Park, after Lord Rancliffe had been gathered to his fathers, would not have so deemed them. Fancy pictured to many a mind's eye the kindhearted "little lord " offering the hospitalities of his ever-open Hall, or ambling up the avenue on his favourite grey. Lord R. had been a man of mark in the hunt for a generation. His light weight, his selection of pure Arab blood, graceful as gazelles and fleet as graceful, his easy seat and aiding hand, and his having every fence of the country by heart, made him a first class man in every crack run: and the zeal with which he enjoyed it was delightful to witness. His enthusiasm was often catching. Few men told a good story like Lord Rancliffe often have I known him make the covert-side ring with cachinnation while he sat slinging his stirrup, or twisting his pet whiskers in a way that every foxhunter will well remember. I well recollect on one occasion, when a pelting and pitiless storm had driven the field to seek shelter in a lone farm-house, how his Lordship offered his services to cook the bacon-flitch and mull the ale. This he did with a charm

all his own. For the master, mistress, and maidens he had always some appropriate and well-timed joke; and in every house of call for the Hunt no foxhunter received a more hearty welcome than Lord Rancliffe. "He's a little 'un!" once said a plain Clodpole to me, "but he's every inch a lord.”

So he was. A domestic calamity, when his blood was yet young, altered the aspect and tenor of his whole after-life. The world said he had errors: humanum est errare: but let those who say so remember Sam Rogers's touching lines on poor Byron, between whose life and

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