seeing his unexpected and unwelcome visitors, he roused himself and gave a huge growl, which made them quake in their shoes. One of them, not knowing, perhaps, in his fright, very exactly what he was about, fired his gun at the bear. The charge entered the breast of the animal, wounding him in several places. Springing up, with distended nostrils and dilated eyes, the incensed animal roared and bellowed with agony, making the mountain and the neighbouring woods ring again. But this lasted only for a couple of minutes or so, for after he had indulged himself with a few variations of his terrific howlings, frightening thereby the warlike bear-hunters so desperately, that they had scarcely courage to run away, he aroused himself, gave a few shakes to his huge sides, and then, with a bound that in one of his ordinarily quiet habits was somewhat astonishing, rushed after his persecutors. They, poor devils! seeing him at their heels, became awake to their danger, cut away," to use a Miltonic simile, "like bricks." They had not run very many yards, however, before one of the more courageous of the party, seeing Mr. Bruin slacken his pace, as if enfeebled by the pain he suffered, slunk behind a tree, and then, when the poor beast approached sufficiently near, took careful aim at his skull, and lodged a ball slap through the brain. There was one immense roar of agony, which was heard for miles around, then a thrilling yell, then a few struggles, and then poor Bruin "kicked the bucket of life"-another Paradise-Lost-ic simile and so he departed to Kingdom Come.

66

He turned out to be of immense size, and extraordinary fatness. In his shoulder, at a depth of nearly five inches, was found a bullet, firmly embedded in the flesh; and in one of his thighs another bullet was found -this proved that he was an old warrior. His skin was carefully preserved as a trophy of the valour of the brave inhabitants of St. Julienen-Quint, and his death was celebrated by a grand ball, at which all the young men and maidens, and, truth to speak, all the old men and matrons, cheerfully "assisted."

SPORTING IN CYPRUS.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE SPORTING MAGAZINE.

SIR,-Conceiving that the resources this beautiful island affords to the sportsman are not generally known, I think it right to give you the following information, which cannot fail to be agreeable to most of the readers of your magazine, and also to yachting gentlemen travelling in the Mediterranean who take delight in the sports of the field, having the precaution to come well provided with ammunition and dogs, neither of which are to be had here.

I must first name that rare bird the francolin, which in certain parts of the island is abundant. The usual game, such as partridges, hares,

and quails, are plentiful in most of our hills and valleys, and during the winter, woodcock, snipe, and duck are sufficiently abundant to gratify the most fastidious sportsman. In the mountains, the moufflon may be occasionally shot with rifle. The means of travelling are easy, good mules being to be had at a moderate rate-1s. 6d. each per diem; and the convents found in their various secluded localities afford excellent accommodation to all who wish to seek an asylum within their walls.

The inhabitants are a singularly quiet and unoffending race; the peasantry being satisfied with little, and always glad to assist the passing stranger. Provisions are cheap; and if the sportsman be provided with a servant who knows how to cook, he may fare sumptuously every day. I am, sir, your humble servant, NIVEN KERR,

(British Consul for Cyprus.)

Larnaca of Cyprus, 27th August, 1849.

THE FINE ART S.

MR. CHARLES DAVIS, HUNTSMAN TO HER MAJESTY, ON "THE TRAVERSER ;" dedicated, by permission, to the Earl of Besborough.

MR. WILLIAM LONG, HUNTSMAN TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, ONBERTHA;" dedicated, by permission, to the Duke of Beaufort.

It is with more than usual satisfaction we call attention to these plates, our duty being in every way a most agreeable one. The "subject" by fame, if not personally, must in either instance be well known to the readers of this Magazine; while the names of artists and engraver must be equally familiar. Both portraits are from paintings by the Messrs. Barraud, of whose works we have so often had occasion to speak in terms of the highest approval, engraved by Mr. Edward Hacker, a gentleman whose long connexion with this Magazine is the best evidence we can offer in opinion of his ability. Considering all this, how often we avail ourselves of the black and white" of the one, after the careful and spirited delineations of the other, our view of these productions as works of art might perhaps unconsciously be taken in too partial a light. It seems a little like backing one's own judgment to speak as highly as we feel; but with the authority and confirmation we have in the works themselves, we shall dare to do so.

66

In the first place, regarding them as purely sporting prints, they strike at once home to the heart of that class they are especially intended for. The easy business-like attitudes of men and horses, the judicious disposition of the few favourite hounds grouped around them, the seat and huntsman "look"-let alone the likeness-of the chief

figures, all heightened by the care and fidelity with which every matter of detail has been carried out, show at once the innate appreciation of a sportsman was in him who thus attempted to paint one. The brothers Barraud's are not merely human or animal portraits, but as true to general" character" as they are in individual feature and expression.

We can again class these prints quite as high for their value in the ranks of modern art. Comparing them, plate for plate, we know of few works in any variety of subject that these would suffer from being brought in contact with. We have especially to congratulate Mr.

Hacker on the eminent success he has achieved. He has evinced the greatest taste, ability, and relish for his present subject; and while we award such great honours on such good grounds, we may say one word for the experience that must have led to such a perfection.

Of the pair Bell's Life in London has already said,

"The likenesses are perfect, and the peculiarity of seat in Messrs. Davis and Long admirably preserved. The horses and hounds are not less true to nature, and present a specimen of animal painting rarely, if ever, excelled. They are exquisitely finished. and, as works of art, are superior to any similar subjects which have come under our observation."

And The Sporting Magazines can echo this estimate of their excellence with the fullest confidence in its being fairly merited. We may add, that the prints are published by the artists, 79, Park Street, and at a price that should warrant the first plates being quickly used out.

Messrs.

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN, Winner of the Derby and St. Leger, 1849: engraved by J. Harris, after a painting by J. F. Herring, sen. Fores, Piccadilly.

We welcome Mr. Herring's return to the turf, with what we consider the best portrait of a race-horse even he ever painted. Certainly he has never yet had one brought out in the same style. Of the artist's particular ability for this particular study everyone knows and says so much, that we shall add nothing to our opinion of this being still on the improvement. Without backers, however, the public at large could not have their proper share in the enjoyment of his works. With such as Mr. Fores, their print becomes a perfect fac simile of the picture; and as we have before had occasion to observe, were it not for saying you had the one, the print really reaches very close on the picture. The excellence, indeed, attained in colouring is quite wonderful, and so far quite as peculiar to the Sackville-street repository.

The scene being laid in the paddock has warranted the introduction of likenesses of Mr. Fobert, and Marlow preparing for his ride, in addition to the portrait of the best horse of, by the best man of, his day.

66

PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS OF THE METROPOLIS.

6

Settle yourselves, my good audience; chat each with his neighbour. Dear madam, in the boxes, take up your opera-glass and look about you. Treat Tom and pretty Sal to some of those fine oranges, Oh! thou happy looking mother in the two-shilling gallery! Yes, brave 'prentice-boys, in the tier above, the cat-call by all means! And you, most potent, grave, and reverend seigneurs,' in the front row of the pit-practised critics and steady old play-goers-who shake your heads at new actors and play-writers, and, true to the creed of your youth (for the which all honour to you!), firmly believe that we are shorter by the head than those giants our grandfathers-laugh or scold as you will, while the drop-scene still shuts out the stage.

*

"Play up! Oh ye fiddles and kettle-drums! the time is elapsed. Stop that cat-call, young gentleman! Heads down in the pit there! Now the flourish is over-the scene draws up-look before."-The Caxtons.

The citizen of the world, that naturally enough seeks recreation after the toils, cares, and troubles incidental to the daily routine of his duties, cannot complain of the quantity or variety of amusements specially provided for his notice. "You say nothing about quality, Mr. Writer." "No, Mr. Reader, that's a question left for your own judgment, and there's no fear that an individual endowed as you are with discriminating"-Now, no blushing. Well, then, as you so particularly press it, we will not pursue the theme. The metropolis abounds with theatres just at this time, the managers of which, in many instances, are busily sending forth announcements of "unprecedented attraction." Assuming such to be the fact, surely it is not unreasonable to hint a doubt of the necessity of proclaiming that which, on their own authority, the public is already acquainted with? There can be no question that the "attraction" is of every possible kind; "tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragicalcomical, scene indivisible, or poem unlimited. There are theatres where Shakspeare can be witnessed with all that gorgeous pomp of illustration and of scenic splendour that many of your moderns consider indispensable to the representation of the "inspired works of the immortal Will," as he is designated by Mr. Peacock, a member of "the sock and buskin," who is, let it be indignantly observed, degradingly thrust into common "plush" by Sir Bulwer Lytton. Then, again, there are theatres where every thing of native growth is strictly prohibited, save and except the audience; translations from the French are served up with an alacrity that only engenders a trifling regret that the "doer" had not time to include the spirit of the original. Besides these but silence, "the flourish is over-the scene draws up." Enterprise, energy, and managerical spirit to a degree rarely ex

hibited, are concentrated in the particular instance of Mr. Webster, whose direction of the HAYMARKET THEATRE is of unexampled character. With a company already the best in London, he has added the name of one whose appearance alone is a guarantee that the manager studies the taste of the public. The farewell engagement of Mr. Macready is invested with every possible degree of interest, and at the same time calls forth general and simultaneous expressions of regret that the stage is doomed so soon to be deprived of one whose name has invariably lent a lustre to it. Albeit this feeling of sorrow is evoked at the announcement of the final performances of an old favourite, it must be admitted that admiration is felt that an opportunity is afforded of witnessing the masterly delineations of his whole répertoire, from which we have already had Hamlet, Macbeth, and Lear. In point of attraction the last named indisputably takes precedence. The melo-dramatic spirit running through the tragedy is highly favourable to the talents of Mr. Macready, which are displayed to considerable advantage at the present acting. The scene where he hangs over the body of his strangled child is a true picture of human suffering, from its very truth affecting to observe. The general performance is calculated to elicit feelings of impressive delight. Mr. and Mrs. Keeley are seen to eminent advantage in "new," and how pleasant to add "original" farce from the pen of one who writes but seldom, but always with much ability-Mr. Shirley Brooks. Mrs. Keeley is the "Guardian Angel" of Mr. Keeley, who personates Mr. Dulcimer —but there, everybody must see the piece of fun, and judge for himself or herself, as the case may be. It is not too much to declare that the sides of any one who can witness the acting of such a clever twain without being convulsed with laughter must have sides thoroughly and hermetically vulcanized. Buckstone appears nightly in some clever farce or another -sometimes" The Rough Diamond," on other occasions "Lend me Five Shillings," and often in " An Alarming Sacrifice," in which as Bob Ticket he contrives to keep the house in a continual roar. The good generalship of Mr. Webster is displayed by the activity he evinces in following up novelty after novelty, success upon success. Several new pieces are in preparation, and will be immediately produced.

The genius of Charles Mathews finds scope for exercise in Mr. Bernard's amusing production of "A Practical Man." How he mismanages his own affairs-how he interferes with other people's business— how, according to his own declaration, he can do everything-how he can effect nothing is proved by his acts-how he turns an umbrella into a ship's wheel--how he converts chairs and tables into his guests-and how he amuses the audience-should be ocularly demonstrated at the LYCEUM by those who wish to learn what constitutes "A Practical Man." A revival of "Beauty and the Beast" should not be lost sight of.

Wigan gives a faithful portraiture of an aged father, whose whole mission on earth is but to procure an engagement for his daughter as prima donna. The piece is entitled "The First Night," and is performed at the PRINCESS's, but with the exception of the excellent acting of Wigan as the Frenchman and Louisa Howard as the daughter, there is nothing to call for remark. By the way, from the empty state of the house, it is but fair to congratulate absentees" their name is legion"—on the in