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glass in such extreme surprise, or Dare-devil Dan, the whip, wish "that there gentleman" out of his way and into somebody else's, with such unprecedented surliness of tone? What! but

The MISTAKEN NOTION?

That young pretender, that unhappy idiot, - Simpson, Esq., as the gentle reader has no doubt half settled it by this time, had been down again to his cousin in the country, and given him-the ungrateful blackguard—his own complaint, the scarlet fever. Instead of his usual accompaniments, the cod's head, barrel of oysters, new annual, and interesting key-book of the latest ballet, pushed into his great coat pocket by accident, he had brought scarlet cloth enough to catch three or four score of women, or five or six thousand of mackerel-enough, in fact, for a coat. Of this he made a present to his cousin, had it made up, and hoped-the selfish, conceited puppythat his cousin would wear it for his sake! How his cousin did turn out in it, and how it turned out, we have endeavoured to show; and all that need be added is, that one trial was deemed sufficient, and that when Simpson, Esq., returned to town, his scarlet abomination was returned with him; that after painting the skirts with port wine and blue black, he appeared in it at the last masquerade at Vauxhall, where he enjoyed the supreme gratification of having it ripped right up, from waist to collar, by a pugnacious, irascible quaker, in whose ear he had ventured a most horrible effort at a "view holloa!"

In the foregoing sketch, the main points and facts are strictly facts: such a case, indeed, may have occurred more than once, but beyond this our own observation does not extend. It is an oft mooted question whether a farmer or tradesman should or should not hunt in a red coat if he choose so to do. We by no means intend to say that he ought not, any more than that a grocer's apprentice should be prohibited a moustache. Still, the custom of the country, in either case, is against it; and custom, according to all accounts, is the very next thing to law itself. The only moral, then, we would presume to offer is, that if any farmer, however independent or determined, should fancy that by laying on the rouge he will increase his importance, heighten his amusement, or improve his acquaintance, we are rather inclined to believe he will find it to be

A MISTAKEN NOTION.

This world, in short, is full of them. You see a fellow strut into a coffee-room, with a look at every other person in it, as much as to imply "What the deuce, I should like to know, do you mean by being here?" checks off what the waiter tells him he can have to eat, as if there could by no possibility be any thing worthy of his attention, and regards his mutton chop and potato, when it does come, as if well aware that the landlord and cook, between them, were now and then in the habit of poisoning people; roars for water, frowns at the cruet-stand, sniffs at the cheese, sneers at the paper, and at last struts out again, labouring under the visible impression that he has convinced every body he is the best man that ever came into the house, and the finest gentleman that ever went out of it. We needn't say it is— A MISTAKEN NOTION !

We find another pig-eyed, big-whiskered, over-dressed humbug, grinning and grimacing at every girl that has the misfortune to fall in the way of the object. And one blushes: ah! those tell-tale cheeks-love at first sight, no doubt. Another smiles, in evident approbation of the handsome man whose gaze she has attracted; while a third frowns, to conceal unquestionably the more kindly feeling she entertains towards him. And so our Narcissus in thought, if not in figure, meanders along, translating disgust into delight, smiles of contempt into congratulation, and absolute horror into well-dissembled affection. And, strange to say, it is not until he has ventured on the second word, that he discovers the first look was

A MISTAKEN NOTION!

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A third blustering booby will form the centre-bit of a scene of annoyance in the pit of a theatre, or on the top of a race-stand. didn't pay his money to be pushed about in this way. it, sir, mind where you're coming to, or he must make you mind. What odds is it to him what others do? he isn't going to stand it; so he just gives you notice. No, may he be if he takes his hat off for any man alive; and he'd only like to see the gentleman that would come and attempt to make him do it." And so this kind of hero will continue outraging the feelings of every woman, incensing those of every man, and perhaps persuading a few over-amiable individuals that big words precede great deeds, until some unobtrusive, mild-speaking little man, whose patience can stand it no longer, convinces them-by knocking that disputed point, the terribly cocked hat, a little more over the eyes and ears of the wearer, and then, if necessary, the uneasy declaimer himself downstairs-that they have been rather out in their estimate, or, in other words, have been succumbing to

A MISTAKEN NOTION !

We once had the luck to witness a capital case of this last description at a Michaelmas country-town fair, whither we went for the ostensible object of assisting "a small gentleman" in buying a small horse-a matter, by the bye, which we remember he set about with as much importance and seriousness as if his intent was to purchase the copyhold of a country house or the copyright of a London paper. Well, in the midst of a most desperately deep investigation of a ragged, rough, and ready mountaineer, a general rush to one corner proclaimed a row of some sort-a badger or a pickpocket to be baited, a royal tiger got loose, or a cheap Jack got civil-something out of the common, evidently; and, despite the momentous nature of the business we were retained on, and the many miseries we had elsewhere experienced in the way of absent handkerchiefs, smashed toes, and dishevelled hats, off we went once more to see "what's the matter?"

A fight, by all that's joyful!—or, at any rate, some very promising ingredients for one-the magnet of attraction being a great red-headed, red-faced bumpkin, more than half a fool naturally, and more than half drunk certainly, pulling his white smock off his ungainly form, sputtering and swearing all the while in a most awful style, and surrounded, of course, by a loud-wailing sweetheart, a prophetic, muchirate mamma, and a faint-hearted, all-but-fainting-outright little sister. We say "of course," for never do we recollect seeing a Johnny Clod

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pole give the first offer at getting out of his trappings for hostile deeds but, as sure as fate, a whole bevy of women-goodness only knows where they came from-would fling themselves on him. "Now, don't ye; don't fight Aulfred. Look at poor dear Jane here. Don't ye now; never moind 'un; ain't it yer puir old mother as is axing of ? You shan't go to make murder loike this. A shame on a set of villains as would set you at it! Don't now; don't ye!" And (of course again) the more they pray him not, the more determined is Aulfred to "have a cut at 'un," and "at 'un" he goes accordingly; now receiving a punch in the eye from t'other chap, then a hug from Jane, and then a scratch from "t'auld 'oman." In the present instance, however, it had scarcely come to this: Aulfred was as ready and willing as, under the circumstances, with a decent allowance of beer and female supporters, could have been expected: but his opponent an intelligent-looking fellow, something of the cut of a gentleman's servant in want of a master-on, the contrary, evinced a most decided desire not to make any regular set-to of it. "No, no," said he'"it isn't worth while. After all, it was only a mistake of yours: and I didn't mean any offence in putting you right."

"Dang thee offence! Wasn't I a telling my mate here that this big box" (they were grouped at the back of Wombwell's collection) "had got the famous fat pig in it, when thee bursts out a larfing, and says, 'It ain't a pig's box, but a helephant's?' And, s'pose it is, d'ye think I comes here to be set to rights by you? No; dang thee! strip out, and try it on!"

Notwithstanding the mingled applause and lamentations which followed this very open-hearted invitation, the stableman appeared as reluctant and as much on the backing-out system as ever. And yet it was odd, too; the more one looked at him, the more you got prejudiced in his favour-his manner, his look, his very eyethough there was some indescribable passion going on in him, it certainly did seem exactly like being afraid: all gave one the idea that he might make a good stand-up of it if he would only "try it on," as his fat friend said. Though more than ordinarily pale for men of his class, and evidently hardish-up, there was none of the cockney country-dealer's man about him, or the gin-drinking tout of a canvascovered "good stabling"-something rather of the true groom, who might have followed a nobleman up Halkin-street, or have gone on to a meet of the Heythrop or Pytchley. Well, at last, what with the suggestions of "young measter," the cries of the women, and the egging on of his mate, Rufus became unbearable, rushing up and down, shaking his fist in the other's face, and calling him all the complimentary names a rather extensive knowledge in that line enabled him to employ his tongue on. At last he got so far as to send in a tolerably straight "back-hander" (as we say at hazard) on the face of his unresisting opponent, and a perfect yell ran through the assembly, which might have been interpreted in this wise-" Faugh! that fellow has got no pluck at all." For a moment more the disciple of peace hesitated, and then (his eye was a fine study then) off came his long stable-jacket, and, amidst a louder yell still, in he went at his man; that second yell proclaimed the first

A MISTAKEN NOTION!

He didn't want pluck, he wanted a shirt; and, in ten minutes from that discovery, Rufus, somewhat sobered and saddened, yielded to the solicitations of his betrothed, put on his smock again, and walked off with some alarming symptoms, the principal of which were an amazing soreness about the ribs and shoulders, together with a dizziness and swelling of the eyes, which promised in a few hours to end with a temporary loss of sight, as an agreeable sequitur to the loss of blood he had already experienced.

The gentler reader will draw his own moral from this. He will not henceforth consider the quiet, inoffensive man whom circumstances, regard for the opinion of others, station, connections, stay from thrashing a bullying blackguard, in the rank of cowards. Far from it; for he knows now, as maybe he did before, it is altogether A MISTAKEN NOTION.

HUNTING AS IT WILL BE.

It is a fact deeply to be regretted-yet, it is to be feared, too truethat the peculiar and changeful customs of the present age, suited most properly to the amelioration and improvement of the condition of the o Toot, the mass of our population, yet inevitably tend to the destruction of some of the principal amusements of the higher classes, amongst which the chase holds so prominent a position. Far, however, is it from my intention for one moment to decry the real benefits which the progressive civilization of the present age confers upon the community at large, in which advantages we all equally participate: this would indeed be selfish in the extreme, and would justly draw down upon our devoted heads the indignation of a Bright or a Cobden. I can only contemplate the gradual, yet evidently increasing obstacles to the manly and healthful recreations of the field, so consonant to the disposition of our countrymen, as I would the removal of some noble ruin of former ages, picturesque and pleasing, yet devoid of utility, to make room for a stiff and modern edifice, however habitable and commodious, yet totally at variance with our ideas of the beautiful. In a former article, I briefly alluded to the almost total annihilation of game which would necessarily ensue from the proposed repeal of the existing game laws, and the increased facilities which would be thus afforded to the already too numerous fraternity of poachers. It must be expected, as an almost certain result, that as game decreases, foxes will diminish also; not to mention the lack of occupation for the numerous packs of merry harriers to be met with in almost every county in our isle. Red herrings would then be unquestionably at a premium.

The hunting field is almost the only-the neutral ground upon which the nobleman, the squire, and the tenant may meet, I will not exactly say upon terms of equality, but for the sake of mutual relaxation and enjoyment. In these times, the distinctions of rank are so rigidly ad

hered to, that but too seldom an opportunity occurs for the interchange of kindly feeling between the higher and lower classes, so conducive to a good understanding between the landlord and the tenant. I do not mean by this that the master of a pack of hounds is bound to become hailfellow-well-met with all his separate dependants who may swell his train, or is compelled to waste his valuable time in long-winded inquiries after the welfare of their respective Sukys and Bobbys and Sallys, and their whole families and stock in detail; neither would I recommend every bumpkin, who may hold a cottage and a few fields, to think that he is thereby entitled to a portion of his landlord's attention and notice in the field, which at that time his intimate friends neither seek for nor expect. A master of hounds hunting his own pack is far too much engaged to thus waste his time: there is a way of bestowing an occasional nod or word of recognition which answers the purpose just as well. More exists in this little occasional intercourse than may at first be supposed; and, at the risk of being set down as an ill-omen croaker, I cannot but regret that there exists so considerable a probability of this link becoming eventually severed.

The probable stop about to be placed to the legal preservation of game, and its consequent diminution, and the innumerable railways now existing and in contemplation, intersecting the country in every direction, and in so many parts affording such insurmountable obstacles to following hounds, are the two great difficulties with which to contend. As a case in point, I lately heard from good authority that a noble duke in the south of England had signified his intention of giving up his splendid pack of fox-hounds in consequence of a railway about to be made through his best country. The truth is, that we are becoming too civilized, and our country is too thickly populated to enjoy fieldsports as our ancestors did before us. Great improvements, I confess, have taken place in our horses, dogs, and guns: we have increased all our former facilities for destroying game; but, unfortunately, the very perfection to which we have arrived is one of the principal reasons for its decrease. Owing to the superiority of our means for destruction, the objects of our pursuit diminish in proportion; and the ultimate result, its final annihilation, is clear, as proportionate attention is not directed towards keeping up the stock. In consequence of the removal of the qualification formerly required for a certificate, every snob, who can muster the cash, takes out his licence, buys a Brummagem gun for fiveand-twenty or thirty shillings, and soon learns to point it sufficiently straight to efficiently harass and annoy those unfortunate preservers of game who may unluckily reside in his neighbourhood. Would that all certificates were ten guineas apiece: there would then be some slight chance of the present rapidly diminishing stock of game not becoming entirely extinct.

I have thus digressed from my subject, to point out the effects which such a scarcity would have upon the breed of foxes-of whom game forming almost their entire subsistence, and with whose preservation their own is so closely connected-and consequently upon the sport of both fox-hounds and harriers.

No doubts may, I think, be entertained of the excellence to which our noble auxiliaries to the chase, both horse and hound, have arrived. The

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