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the Deckan, the stately owner of those noblest of nature's coiffures,in the pursuit of whom, ravines and water-courses, steeps and valleys, rocks and nullahs, grow into level grounds. Again, in grasping yonder tusk of an enormous wild boar, which he himself plucked from its fearful dwelling-place, does he not almost feel (as he did in reality when he obtained that trophy of his sporting prowess) the hot breath of the “ig-noble savage," as he lay un horsed beside him, covered with his blood and that of his noble steed, who was disabled by a desperate wound given in the death-struggle by the expiring monster.

To change the scene in correspondence with the varied spirit of the work-on the opposite wall hangs the small and delicate antlers of the Spanish roebuck, and over them the short couteau-de-chasse, the broad Calanen (vulgo Castor), and the brilliantly embroidered bottinas, calling to mind his exploits in the rugged Sierras and gloomy cork woods of Andalusia; just as the margrabin haick, which forms part of the author's ordinary home costume, as he glances down towards it, carries him to “ Numidia's burning sands," and his "experiences" among the wild descendants of her sons ; and the spoils of the sylphlike gazelle bring back the Desert of Lybia, and the “desert ship" that bore him safely over them; while the crucifix and rosary that hang beside them, lead him at last to the Sacred Mount, where he earns the Hadjees honours and privileges.

Such, and such-like, are the hints on which this pleasant, howbeit, somewhat desultory work is written, and those must be more critical readers than the critics themselves, who do not find infinite amusement in its infinitely varied, and (we have no doubt whatever) perfectly authentic and unadorned details. It opens with “ The Sportsman Afloat,” which gives us the incidents of a voyage from the coast of Coromandel to Bordeaux, touching and sporting at the Isle of France, the Cape, St. Helena, &c. We are then suddenly transported from the city of Cork (vid Gibraltar) to the Andalusian Forest of the same name, in which we are treated to all sorts of runs with the Calpe foxhounds, in company with Prince George of Cambridge, who was at the period in question in garrison there, and to whom the book is addressed.

Then follows an excursion to the opposite coast of Africa, in which there is little sporting but much amusement; and the first volume closes with “ A Few Days Sporting in Barbary," as enjoyed and described by a friend of the author.

The second volume, which is at least equally pregnant with the first, opens at Malta, of which we have many novel and amusing details. Thence we have an interesting excursion to Gozo, or Ogygia—the farfamed Isle of Calypso-to whose grotto we are introduced, and may (if we can) fancy ourselves sitting on the very spots where the wise Ulysses whiled away, at the feet of the fascinating goddess, seven years, that were perchance not the least wise among his mortal hours.

Finally, we are taken to Egypt and the Holy Land, and told about them a vast number of anecdotes and experiences that, although they are infinitely too desultory, personal, and unconnected to serve as a “ Handbook” to those scenes, have, en revanche, a life and a reality that are worth the best handbook in Mr. Murray's list—which is saying a bold word.

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The main incident recorded in the following excerpta from our family papers has but too solid a foundation. The portrait of Roger Ingoldsby is not among those in the gallery, but I have some recollection of having seen, when a boy, a picture answering the description here given of him, much injured, and lying without a frame in one of the attics.

It has a jocund sound,
That gleeful Marriage chime,

As from the old and ivied tower,
It peals, at the early Matin hour,

Its merry, merry round;
And the Spring is in its prime,

And the Song-bird, on the spray,
Trills from his throat, in varied note,
An emulative lay-

It has a joyous sound !!
And the Vicar is there with his wig and his book,
And the Clerk with his grave, quasi-sanctified look,
And there stand the Village maids all with their posies,
Their lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, and roses,

Dight in white,

A comely sight,
Fringing the path to the left and the right ;
- From our nursery days we all of us know
Ne'er doth “Our Ladye's garden grow"
So fair for a “ Grand Horticultaral Show”
As when border'd with “ pretty maids all on a row.”
And the urchins are there, escap'd from the rule

Of that “ Limbo of Infants," ihe National School,


Whooping, and bawling,
And squalling, and calling,
And crawling, and creeping,

And jumping, and leaping,
Bo-peeping 'midst " many a mouldering heap" in
Whose bosom their own "rude forefathers” are sleeping;
-Young rascals !-instead of lamenting and weeping,

Laughing and gay,

A gorge deployée-
Only now and then pausing—and checking their play,
To wonder what 'tis makes the gentlefolks stay,"

Ah, well a-day!

Little deem they,
Poor ignorant dears ! the bells, ringing away,

Are any thing else

Than mere Parish bells,
Or that each of them, should we go into its history,
Is but a “Symbol" of some deeper mystery-

That the clappers and ropes

Are mere practical tropes Of “ trumpets” and “tongues," and of “preachers," and popes, Unless Clement the fourth's worthy Chaplain, Durand, err, See the Rationale," of that Goosey-gander.

Gently! gently, Miss Muse!

Mind your P's and your Q's !
Don't be malapert-laugh, Miss, but never abuse ! -
Calling names, whether done to attack or to back a schism,
Is, Miss, believe me, a great piece of Jack-ass-ism,

And as, on the whole,
You're a good-natured soul,

You must never enact such a pitiful rôle.
No, no, Miss, pull up, and go back to your boys
In the churchyard, who're making this hubbub and noise-
But hush !--there's an end to their romping and mumming,
For voices are heard-here's the company coming!

gay, the


grassy lane,

And see !--the avenue gates unfold,

And forth they pace, that bridal train,

the old,
They cross the


Bridesman, Bridesmaid, Bridegroom, Bride,
Two by two, and side by side,
Uncles, and aunts, friends tried and prov'd,
And cousins, a great many times remov'd.

A fairer or a gentler She,
A lovelier Maid, in her degree,

Man's eye might never hope to see,
Than darling, bonnie Maud Ingoldsby,
The flow'r of that goodly company ;
While whispering low, with bated voice,
Close by her side, her heart's dear choice,
Walks Fredville's hope, young Valentine Boys.

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